OF  A  LON 

THEODORE  L 


HMnBU 


f  L; 

|       >AN  DIEGO        i 


THEODORE  LEDYARD  CUYLER. 


RECOLLECTIONS 
OF  A  LONG  LIFE 

AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


BY 

THEODORE  LEDYARD  CUYLER,  D.D.,  LL.D. 

Author  of  "Help  and  Good  Cheer,"  "Gad's  Light 

on  Dark  Clouds,"  "  The  Emfty  Crib," 

£tc.,  Etc. 


NEW  YORK  :    THE  BAKER  &  TAYLOR  CO. 
33-37  EAST  I7TH  STREET,  UNION  SQUARE  NORTH 


COPYRIGHT,  igoa 

BY 
THE  BAKER  &  TAYLOR  CO. 

Published  September,  1902 


PRINTED  BY  THE 

KAY  PRINTING  HOUSE 

66-68  CENTRE  ST. 
NBW  YOEK  CITY,  U.  S.  A. 


CONTENTS 

I 
BOYHOOD  AND  COLLEGE  LIFE 


II 

GREAT  BRITAIN  SIXTY  YEARS  AGO      ....     12 
Wordsworth  —  Dickens  —  The    Land    of 
Burns,  etc. 

Ill 

GREAT  BRITAIN  SIXTY  YEARS  AGO  (Continued)     23 
Carlyle — Mrs.  Baillie — The  Young  Queen 
— Napoleon. 

IV 

HYMN-WRITERS  I  HAVE  KNOWN 37 

Montgomery — Bonar — Bowring  —  Palmer 
and  others. 

V 

THE    TEMPERANCE    REFORM    AND    MY    CO- 
WORKERS 49 


vi  CONTENTS 

VI 
WORK  IN  THE  PULPIT 61 

VII 
EXPERIENCE  IN  REVIVALS 82 

VIII 
AUTHORSHIP 93 

IX 

SOME  FAMOUS  PEOPLE  ABROAD 99 

Gladstone — Dr.  Brown  —  Dean  Stanley  — 
Shaftesbury,  etc. 

X 

SOME  FAMOUS  PEOPLE  AT  HOME 1 18 

Irving — Whittier — Webster — Greeley,  etc. 

XI 
THE  CIVIL  WAR  AND  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN    .    .138 

XII 
PASTORAL  WORK       159 


CONTENTS  vii 

XIII 

SOME  FAMOUS  PREACHERS  IN  BRITAIN    .    .     .  170 
Binney  —  Hamilton  —  Guthrie  —  Hall  — 
Spurgeon — Duff  and  others. 

XIV 

SOME  FAMOUS  AMERICAN  PREACHERS    .    .    .  190 
The  Alexanders — Dr.    Tyng — Dr.   Cox — 
Dr.  Adams — Dr.  Storrs — Mr.  Beecher, 
Mr.  Finney  and  Dr.  B.  M.  Palmer. 

XV 

SUMMERING  AT  SARATOGA  AND  MOHONK    .     .  224 
Bishop   Haven  —  Dr.    S chaff  —  President 
McCosh. 

XVI 
A  RETROSPECT 243 

XVII 
A  RETROSPECT  (Continued)        273 

XVIII 

HOME  LIFE  .  288 


vii;  CONTENTS 


.     .     .312 

XX 

THE  JOYS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  MINISTRY       .    .  325 
A  Valedictory  Discourse  Delivered  to  the 
Lafayette  Avenue  Church,  April  6,  1890. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

THEODORE  LEDYARD  CUYLER    .     .    .    Frontispiece 

DR.  CUYLER  WHEN  PASTOR  OF  THE  MARKET 

ST.  CHURCH ,    Facing  page  5° 

DR.  CUYLER  AT  50      ....    Facing  page  100 

LAFAYETTE  AVENUE  CHURCH  .     Facing  page  298 

DR.  CUYLER  AT  80    ....    Facing  page  318 


RECOLLECTIONS    OF    A 
LONG    LIFE 

CHAPTER  I 

MY  BOYHOOD  AND  COLLEGE  LIFE 

WASHINGTON  IRVING  has  somewhere  said  that 
it  is  a  happy  thing  to  have  been  born  near  some 
noble  mountain  or  attractive  river  or  lake,  which 
should  be  a  landmark  through  all  the  journey  of 
life,  and  to  which  we  could  tether  our  memory.  I 
have  always  been  thankful  that  the  place  of  my 
nativity  was  the  beautiful  village  of  Aurora,  on  the 
shores  of  the  Cayuga  Lake  in  Western  New  York. 
My  great-grandfather,  General  Benjamin  Ledyard, 
was  one  of  its  first  settlers,  and  came  there  in  1794. 
He  was  a  native  of  New  London  County,  Ct,  a 
nephew  of  Col.  William  Ledyard,  the  heroic  martyr 
of  Fort  Griswold,  and  the  cousin  of  John  Ledyard, 
the  celebrated  traveller,  whose  biography  was  writ- 
ten by  Jared  Sparks.  When  General  Ledyard  came 
to  Aurora  some  of  the  Cayuga  tribe  of  Indians 
were  still  lingering  along  the  lakeside,  and  an 


2  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

Indian  chief  said  to  my  great-grandfather,  "General 
Ledyard,  I  see  that  your  daughters  are  very  pretty 
squaws.''  The  eldest  of  these  comely  daughters, 
Mary  Forman  Ledyard,  was  married  to  my  grand- 
father, Glen  Cuyler,  who  was  the  principal  lawyer 
of  the  village,  and  their  eldest  son  was  my  father, 
Benjamin  Ledyard  Cuyler.  He  became  a  student 
of  Hamilton  College,  excelled  in  elocution,  and  was 
a  room-mate  of  the  Hon.  Gerrit  Smith,  afterward 
eminent  as  the  champion  of  anti-slavery.  On  a 
certain  Sabbath,  the  student  just  home  from  college 
was  called  upon  to  read  a  sermon  in  the  village 
church  of  Aurora,  in  the  absence  of  the  pastor, 
and  his  handsome  visage  and  graceful  delivery 
won  the  admiration  of  a  young  lady  of  sixteen, 
who  was  on  a  visit  to  Aurora.  Three  years  after- 
ward they  were  married.  My  mother,  Louisa 
Frances  Morrell,  was  a  native  of  Morristown,  New 
Jersey ;  and  her  ancestors  were  among  the  founders 
of  that  beautiful  town.  Her  maternal  great-grand- 
father was  the  Rev.  Dr.  Timothy  Johnes,  the  pastor 
of  the  Presbyterian  Church,  who  administered  the 
sacrament  of  the  Lord's  Supper  to  General  Wash- 
ington. Her  paternal  great-grandfather  was  the 
Rev.  Azariah  Horton,  pastor  of  a  church  near 
Morristown,  and  an  intimate  friend  of  the  great 
President  Edwards.  The  early  settlers  of  Aurora 
were  people  of  culture  and  refinement;  and  the 


MY  BOYHOOD  AND  COLLEGE  LIFE.  3 

village  is  now  widely  known  as  the  site  of  Wells 
College,  among  whose  graduates  is  the  popular 
wife  of  ex-President  Cleveland. 

In  the  days  of  my  childhood  the  march  of  mod- 
ern improvements  had  hardly  begun.  There  was 
a  small  steamboat  plying  on  the  Cayuga  Lake. 
There  was  not  a  single  railway  in  the  whole  State. 
When  I  went  away  to  school  in  New  Jersey,  at 
the  age  of  thirteen,  the  tedious  journey  by  the  stage- 
coach required  three  days  and  two  nights;  every 
letter  from  home  cost  eighteen  cents  for  postage; 
and  the  youngsters  pored  over  Webster's  spelling- 
books  and  Morse's  geography  by  tallow  candles; 
for  no  gas  lamps  had  been  dreamed  of  and  the 
wood  fires  were  covered,  in  most  houses,  by  nine 
o'clock  on  a  winter  evening.  There  was  plain 
living  then,  but  not  a  little  high  thinking.  If  books 
were  not  so  superabundant  as  in  these  days,  they 
were  more  thoroughly  appreciated  and  digested. 

My  father,  who  was  just  winning  a  brilliant 
position  at  the  Cayuga  County  Bar,  died  in  June, 
1826,  at  the  early  age  of  twenty-eight,  when  I  was 
but  four  and  one-half  years  old.  The  only  distinct 
recollections  that  I  have  of  him  are  his  leading  me 
to  school  in  the  morning,  and  that  he  once  punished 
me  for  using  a  profane  word  that  I  had  heard  from 
some  rough  boys.  That  wholesome  bit  of  discipline 
kept  me  from  ever  breaking  the  Third  Command- 


4          RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

ment  again.  After  his  death,  I  passed  entirely 
into  the  care  of  one  of  the  best  mothers  that  God 
ever  gave  to  an  only  son.  She  was  more  to  me 
than  school,  pastor  or  church,  or  all  combined. 
God  made  mothers  before  He  made  ministers;  the 
progress  of  Christ's  kingdom  depends  more  upon 
the  influence  of  faithful,  wise,  and  pious  mothers 
than  upon  any  other  human  agency. 

As  I  was  an  only  child,  my  widowed  mother  gave 
up  her  house  and  took  me  to  the  pleasant  home  of 
her  father,  Mr.  Charles  Horton  Morrell,  on  the 
banks  of  the  lake,  a  few  miles  south  of  Aurora. 
How  thankful  I  have  always  been  that  the  next 
seven  or  eight  years  of  my  happy  childhood  were 
spent  on  the  beautiful  farm  of  my  grandfather!  I 
had  the  free  pure  air  of  the  country,  and  the  simple 
pleasures  of  the  farmhouse;  my  grandfather  was 
a  cultured  gentleman  with  a  good  library,  and  at 
his  fireside  was  plenty  of  profitable  conversation. 
Out  of  school  hours  I  did  some  work  on  the  farm 
that  suited  a  boy ;  I  drove  the  cows  to  the  pasture, 
and  rode  the  horses  sometimes  in  the  hay-field,  and 
carried  in  the  stock  of  firewood  on  winter  after- 
noons. My  intimate  friends  were  the  house-dog, 
the  chickens,  the  kittens  and  a  few  pet  sheep  in  my 
grandfather's  flocks.  That  early  work  on  the  farm 
did  much  toward  providing  a  stock  of  physical 
health  that  has  enabled  me  to  preach  for  fifty-six 


MY  BOYHOOD  AND  COLLEGE  LIFE.  5 

yeare  without  ever  having  spent  a  single  Sabbath 
on  a  sick-bed ! 

My  Sabbaths  in  that  rural  home  were  like  the 
good  old  Puritan  Sabbaths,  serene  and  sacred,  with 
neither  work  nor  play.  Our  church  (Presbyterian) 
was  three  miles  away,  and  in  the  winter  our  family 
often  fought  our  way  through  deep  mud,  or  through 
snow-drifts  piled  as  high  as  the  fences.  I  was  the 
only  child  among  grown-up  uncles  and  aunts,  and 
the  first  Sunday-school  that  I  ever  attended  had 
only  one  scholar,  and  my  good  mother  was  the 
superintendent.  She  gave  me  several  verses  of 
the  Bible  to  commit  thoroughly  to  memory  and 
explained  them  to  me;  I  also  studied  the  West- 
minster Catechism.  I  was  expected  to  study  God's 
Book  for  myself,  and  not  to  sit  and  be  crammed 
by  a  teacher,  after  the  fashion  of  too  many  Sunday- 
schools  in  these  days,  where  the  scholars  swallow 
down  what  the  teacher  brings  to  them,  as  young 
birds  open  their  mouths  and  swallow  what  the  old 
bird  brings  to  the  nest.  There  is  a  lamentable 
ignorance  of  the  language  of  Scripture  among  the 
rising  generation  of  America,  and  too  often  among 
the  children  of  professedly  Christian  families. 

The  books  that  I  had  to  feast  on  in  the  long 
winter  evenings  were  "Robinson  Crusoe,"  "Sanford 
and  Merton,"  "The  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  and  the 
few  volumes  in  my  grandfather's  library  that  were 


6          RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

within  the  comprehension  of  a  child  of  eight  or  ten 
years  old.  I  wept  over  "Paul  and  Virginia,"  and 
laughed  over  "John  Gilpin,"  the  scene  of  whose 
memorable  ride  I  have  since  visited  at  the  "Bell  of 
Edmonton."  During  the  first  quarter  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  drunkenness  was  fearfully  prevalent 
in  America;  and  the  drinking  customs  wrought 
their  sad  havoc  in  every  circle  of  society.  My 
grandfather  was  one  of  the  first  agriculturists  to 
banish  intoxicants  from  his  farm,  and  I  signed  a 
pledge  of  total  abstinence  when  I  was  only  ten  or 
eleven  years  old.  Previously  to  that,  I  had  got  a 
taste  of  "prohibition"  that  made  a  profound  im- 
pression on  me.  One  day  I  discovered  some 
"cherrybounce"  in  a  wine-glass  on  my  grandfather's 
sideboard,  and  I  ventured  to  swallow  the  tempting 
liquor.  When  my  vigilant  mother  discovered  what 
I  had  done,  she  administered  a  dose  of  Solomon's 
regimen  in  a  way  that  made  me  "bounce"  most 
merrily.  That  wholesome  chastisement  for  an  act 
of  disobedience,  and  in  the  direction  of  tippling, 
made  me  a  teetotaller  for  life;  and,  let  me  add,  that 
the  first  public  address  I  ever  delivered  was  at  a 
great  temperance  gathering  (with  Father  Theobald 
Mathew)  in  the  City  Hall  of  Glasgow  during  the 
summer  of  1842.  My  mother's  discipline  was  lov- 
ing but  thorough;  she  never  bribed  me  to  good 
conduct  with  sugar-plums;  she  praised  every  com- 


MY  BOYHOOD  AND  COLLEGE  LIFE.  7 

mendable  deed  heartily,  for  she  held  that  an  ounce 
of  honest  praise  is  often  worth  more  than  many 
pounds  of  punishment. 

During  my  infancy  that  godly  mother  had  dedi- 
cated me  to  the  Lord,  as  truly  as  Hannah  ever 
dedicated  her  son  Samuel.  When  my  paternal 
grandfather,  who  was  a  lawyer,  offered  to  bequeath 
his  law-library  to  me,  my  mother  declined  the 
tempting  offer,  and  said  to  him:  "I  fully  expect 
that  my  little  boy  will  yet  be  a  minister."  This 
was  her  constant  aim  and  perpetual  prayer,  and  God 
graciously  answered  her  prayer  of  faith  in  His  own 
good  time  and  way.  I  cannot  now  name  any  time, 
day,  or  place  when  I  was  converted.  It  was  my 
faithful  mother's  steady  and  constant  influence  that 
led  me  gradually  along,  and  I  grew  into  a  religious 
life  under  her  potent  training,  and  by  the  power  of 
the  Holy  Spirit  working  through  her  agency.  A 
few  years  ago  I  gratefully  placed  in  that  noble 
"Lafayette  Avenue  Presbyterian  Church"  of  Brook- 
lyn (of  which  I  was  the  founder  and  pastor  for 
thirty  years)  a  beautiful  memorial  window  to  my 
beloved  mother  representing  Hannah  and  her  child 
Samuel,  and  the  fitting  inscription :  "As  long  as  he 
liveth  I  have  lent  him  to  the  Lord." 

For  several  good  reasons  I  did  not  make  a  public 
profession  of  my  faith  in  Jesus  Christ  until  I  left 
school  and  entered  the  college  at  Princeton,  New 


8  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

Jersey.  The  religious  impressions  that  began  at 
home  continued  and  deepened  until  I  united,  at  the 
age  of  seventeen,  with  the  Church  of  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ.  As  an  effectual  instruction  in  righteous- 
ness, my  faithful  mother's  letters  to  me  when  a 
schoolboy  were  more  than  any  sermons  that  I  heard 
during  all  those  years.  I  feel  now  that  the  happy 
fifty-six  years  that  I  have  spent  in  the  glorious 
ministry  of  the  Gospel  of  Redemption  is  the  direct 
outcome  of  that  beloved  mother's  prayers,  teaching, 
example,  and  holy  influence. 

My  preparation  for  college  was  partly  under  the 
private  tutorship  of  the  good  old  Dutch  dominie, 
the  Rev.  Gerrit  Mandeville,  who  smoked  his  pipe 
tranquilly  while  I  recited  to  him  my  lessons  in 
Caesar's  Commentaries,  and  Virgil;  and  partly  in 
the  well-known  Hill  Top  School,  at  Mendham,  N.  J. 
I  entered  Princeton  college  at  the  age  of  sixteen 
and  graduated  at  nineteen,  for  in  those  days  the 
curriculum  in  our  schools  and  universities  was  more 
brief  than  at  present.  The  Princeton  college  to 
which  I  came  was  rather  a  primitive  institution  in 
comparison  with  the  splendid  structures  that  now 
crown  the  University  heights.  There  were  only 
seven  or  eight  plain  buildings  surrounding  the 
campus,  the  two  society-halls  being  the  only  ones 
that  boasted  architectural  beauty.  In  endowments 
the  college  was  as  poor  as  a  church  mouse.  There 


MY  BOYHOOD  AND  COLLEGE  LIFE.  9 

were  no  college  clubs,  no  inter-collegiate  games, 
thronged  by  thousands  of  people  from  all  over  the 
land;  but  the  period  of  my  connection  with  the 
college  was  really  a  golden  period  in  its  history. 
Never  were  its  chairs  held  by  more  distinguished 
occupants.  The  president  of  the  college  was  Dr. 
Carnahan,  who,  although  without  a  spark  of  genius, 
was  yet  a  man  of  huge  common  sense,  kindness  of 
heart  and  excellent  executive  ability.  In  the  chair 
of  the  vice-president  sat  dear  old  "Uncle  Johnny" 
McLean,  the  best-loved  man  that  ever  trod  the 
streets  of  Princeton.  He  was  the  policeman  of  the 
faculty,  and  his  astuteness  in  detecting  the  pranks 
of  the  students  was  only  equalled  by  his  anxiety 
to  befriend  them  after  they  were  detected.  The 
polished  culture  of  Dr.  James  W.  Alexander  then 
adorned  the  Chair  of  the  Latin  Language  and 
English  Literature.  Dr.  John  Torrey  held  the 
chemical  professorship.  He  was  engaged  with  Dr. 
Gray  in  preparing  the  history  of  American  Flora. 
Stephen  Alexander's  modest  eye  had  watched  Orion 
and  the  Seven  Stars  through  the  telescope  of  the 
astronomer;  the  flashing  wit  and  silvery  voice  of 
Albert  B.  Dod,  then  in  his  splendid  prime,  threw 
a  magnetic  charm  over  the  higher  mathematics. 
And  in  that  old  laboratory,  with  negro  "Sam"  as 
his  assistant,  reigned  Joseph  Henry,  the  acknowl- 
edged king  of  American  scientists.  When,  soon 


io          RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

after,  he  gave  me  a  note  of  introduction  to  Sir 
Michael  Faraday,  Faraday  said  to  me :  "By  far  the 
greatest  man  of  science  your  country  has  produced 
since  Benjamin  Franklin  is  Professor  Henry." 
With  Professor  Henry  I  formed  a  very  intimate 
friendship,  and  after  he  became  the  head  of  the 
Smithsonian  Institution  I  found  a  home  with  him 
whenever  I  went  to  Washington. 

Our  class,  which  graduated  in  1841,  contained 
several  members  who  have  since  made  a  deep  mark 
in  church  and  commonwealth.  Professor  Archibald 
Alexander  Hodge  was  one  of  us.  He  inherited 
the  name  and  much  of  the  power  of  his  distin- 
guished father.  Also  General  Francis  P.  Blair, 
who  rendered  heroic  service  on  the  battle-field. 
John  T.  Nixon  brought  to  the  bench  of  the  United 
States  Court,  andEdwardW.Scudder  brought  to  the 
Supreme  Court  Bench  of  New  Jersey,  legal  learn- 
ing and  Christian  consciences.  Richard  W.  Walker 
became  a  distinguished  man  in  the  Southern  Con- 
federacy. Our  class  sent  four  men  to  professor's 
chairs  in  Princeton.  My  best  beloved  classmate 
was  John  T.  Duffield,  who,  after  a  half  century  of 
service  as  professor  of  mathematics  in  the  Univer- 
sity, closed  his  noble  and  beneficent  career  on  the 
loth  of  April,  1901.  I  delivered  the  memorial 
tribute  to  him  soon  afterward  in  the  Second  Pres- 
byterian Church  in  the  presence  of  the  authorities 


MY  BOYHOOD  AND  COLLEGE  LIFE.  n 

of  the  University.  Another  intimate  friend  was 
the  Hon.  Amzi  Dodd,  ex-chancellor  of  New  Jersey 
and  the  ex-president  of  the  New  Jersey  Life  Insur- 
ance Company.  He  is  still  a  resident  of  that  State. 
During  the  past  threescore  years  it  has  been  my 
privilege  to  deliver  between  sixty  and  seventy  ser- 
mons or  addresses  in  Princeton,  either  to  the 
students  of  the  University  or  of  the  Theological 
Seminary,  or  to  the  residents  of  the  town.  The 
place  has  become  inexpressibly  dear  to  me  as  a 
magnificent  stronghold  of  Christian  culture  and 
orthodox  faith,  on  the  walls  of  whose  institutions 
the  smile  of  God  gleams  like  the  light  of  the  morn- 
ing. O  Princeton,  Princeton!  in  the  name  of  the 
thousands  of  thy  loyal  sons,  let  me  gratefully  say, 
"If  we  forget  thee,  may  our  right  hands  forget  their 
cunning,  and  our  tongues  cleave  to  the  roofs  of  our 
mouths !" 


CHAPTER  II 

>''  •  •"' 

GREAT   BRITAIN    SIXTY   YEARS   AGO 

Wordsworth — Dickens — The  Land  of  Burns,  etc. 

THE  year  after  leaving  college  I  made  a  visit  to 
Europe,  which,  in  those  days,  was  a  notable  event. 
As  the  stormy  Atlantic  had  not  yet  been  carpeted 
by  six-day  steamers,  I  crossed  in  a  fine  new  packet- 
ship,  the  "Patrick  Henry,"  of  the  Grinnell  &  Min- 
turn  Line.  Captain  Joseph  C.  Delano  was  a  gen- 
tleman of  high  intelligence  and  culture  who,  after 
he  had  abandoned  salt  water,  became  an  active 
member  of  the  American  Association  of  Science. 
After  twenty-one  days  under  canvas  and  the  in- 
structions of  the  captain,  I  learned  more  of  nautical 
affairs  and  of  the  ocean  and  its  ways  than  in  a 
dozen  subsequent  passages  in  the  steamships. 

On  the  second  morning  after  our  arrival  in  Liver- 
pool I  breakfasted  with  that  eminent  clergyman, 
Dr.  Raffles,  who  boasted  the  possession  of  one  of 
the  finest  collections  of  autographs  in  England.  He 
showed  me  the  signature  of  John  Bunyan;  the 
original  manuscript  of  one  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's 

novels;  the  original  of  Burns'  poem  addressed  to 

12 


GREAT  BRITAIN  SIXTY  YEARS  AGO.         13 

the  parasite  on  a  lady's  bonnet,  which  contained 
the  famous  lines : 

"Oh  wad  some  power  the  giftie  gie  us 
To  see  our  sel's  as  others  see  us," 

besides  several  other  manuscripts  by  the  same  poet, 
and  also  the  autograph  of  a  challenge  sent  by  Byron 
to  Lord  Brougham  for  alleged  insult,  a  fact  to 
which  no  reference  has  been  made  in  Byron's  biog- 
raphy. From  Liverpool,  with  my  friends  Professor 
Renwick  and  Professor  Cuningham,  I  set  out  on  a 
journey  to  the  lakes  of  England.  We  reached 
Bowness,  on  Lake  Windermere,  in  the  evening. 
The  next  morning  we  went  up  to  Elleray,  the 
country  residence  of  Professor  Wilson  ("Christo- 
pher North"),  who,  unfortunately,  was  absent  in 
Edinburgh.  We  hired  a  boatman  to  row  us  through 
exquisitely  beautiful  Windermere,  and  in  the  even- 
ing reached  the  Salutation  Inn,  at  the  foot  of  the 
lake.  My  great  interest  in  visiting  Ambleside  was 
to  see  the  venerable  poet,  Wordsworth,  who  lived 
about  a  mile  from  the  village.  I  happened,  just 
before  supper,  to  look  put  of  the  window  of  the 
traveller's  room  and  espied  an  old  man  in  a  blue 
cloak  and  Glengarry  cap,  with  a  bunch  of  heather 
stuck  jauntily  in  the  top,  driving  by  in  a  little 
brown  phaeton  from  Rydal  Mount.  "Perhaps," 
thought  I  to  myself,  "that  may  be  the  patriarch  him- 
self," and  sure  enough  it  was.  For,  when  I  in- 


14         RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

quired  about  Mr.  Wordsworth,  the  landlord  said  to 
me,  "A  few  minutes  ago  he  went  by  here  in  his 
little  carriage."  The  next  morning  I  called  upon 
him.  The  walk  to  his  cottage  was  delightful,  with 
the  dew  still  lingering  in  the  shady  nooks  by  the 
roadside,  and  the  morning  songs  of  thanksgiving 
bursting  forth  from  every  grove.  At  the  summit 
of  a  deeply  shaded  hill  I  found  "Rydal  Mount" 
cottage.  I  was  shown,  at  once,  into  the  sitting- 
room,  where  I  found  him  with  his  wife,  who  sat 
sewing  beside  him.  The  old  man  rose  and  received 
me  graciously.  By  his  appearance  I  was  somewhat 
startled.  Instead  of  a  grave  recluse  in  scholastic 
black,  whom  I  expected  to  see,  I  found  an  affable 
and  lovable  old  man  dressed  in  the  roughest  coat 
of  blue  with  metal  buttons,  and  checked  trousers, 
more  like  a  New  York  farmer  than  an  English 
poet.  His  nose  was  very  large,  his  forehead  a  lofty 
dome  of  thought,  and  his  long  white  locks  hung 
over  his  stooping  shoulders;  his  eyes  presented  a 
singular,  half  closed  appearance.  We  entered  at 
once  into  a  delightful  conversation.  He  made 
many  inquiries  about  Irving,  Mrs.  Sigourney  and 
our  other  American  authors,  and  spoke,  with  great 
vehemence,  in  favor  of  an  international  copyright 
law.  He  said  that  at  one  time  he  had  hoped  to 
visit  America,  but  the  duties  of  a  small  office  which 
he  held  (Distributer  of  Stamps),  and  upon  which 


GREAT  BRITAIN  SIXTY  YEARS  AGO.         15 

he  was  partly  dependent,  prevented  the  undertak- 
ing. He  occasionally  made  a  trip  to  London  to  see 
the  few  survivors  of  the  friends  of  his  early  days, 
but  he  told  me  that  his  last  excursion  had  proved 
a  wearisome  effort.  His  library  was  small  but 
select.  He  took  down  an  American  edition  of  his 
works,  edited  by  Professor  Reed,  and  told  me  that 
London  had  never  produced  an  edition  equal  to  it. 
When  I  was  about  to  leave,  the  good  old  poet  got 
his  broad  slouched  hat  and  put  on  his  double  purple 
glasses  to  protect  his  eyes,  and  we  went  out  to  enjoy 
the  neighboring  views.  We  walked  about  from  one 
point  to  another  and  kept  up  a  lively  conversation. 
He  displayed  such  a  winning  familiarity  that,  in  the 
language  of  his  own  poem,  we  seemed 

"  A  pair  of  friends,  though  I  was  young, 
And  he  was  seventy-four." 

From  the  rear  of  his  court-yard  he  showed  me 
Rydal  Water,  a  little  lake  about  a  mile  long,  the 
beautiful  church,  and  beyond  it,  Grassmere,  and 
stil!  further  beyond,  Helvelyn,  the  mountain-king 
with  a  retinue  of  a  hundred  hills.  I  might  have 
spent  the  whole  day  in  delightful  intercourse  with 
the  old  man,  but  my  fellow-travellers  were  going, 
and  I  could  make  no  longer  inroads  upon  their 
time.  When  we  returned  to  the  door  of  his  cottage, 
he  gave  me  a  parting  blessing;  he  picked  a  small 
yellow  flower  and  handed  it  to  me,  and  I  still  pre- 


16          RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

serve  it  in  my  edition  of  his  works,  as  a  relic  of 
the  most  profound  and  the  most  sublime  poet  that 
England  has  produced  during  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury. I  know  of  but  one  other  living  American 
who  has  ever  visited  Wordsworth  at  Rydal  Mount. 

After  passing  through  Keswick,  where  the  ven- 
erable poet  Southey  was  still  lingering  in  sadly 
failing  intelligence,  we  reached  Carlisle  the  same 
evening.  From  Carlisle  we  took  the  mail-coach 
for  Edinburgh  by  the  same  route  over  which  Sir 
Walter  Scott  was  accustomed  to  make  his  journeys 
up  to  London.  The  driver,  who  might  have  an- 
swered to  Washington  Irving's  description,  pointed 
out  to  me  Netherby  Hall,  the  mansion  of  the  Gra- 
hams, on  "Cannobie  lea,"  over  which  the  young 
Lochinvar  bore  away  his  stolen  bride.  We  passed 
also  Branksome  Tower,  the  scene  of  the  "Lay  of 
the  Last  Minstrel,"  and  reached  Selkirk  in  the  early 
evening.  The  next  day  I  spent  at  Abbotsford. 
The  Great  Magician  had  been  dead  only  ten  years, 
and  his  family  still  occupied  the  house  with  some 
of  his  old  employees  who  figure  in  Lockhart's  biog- 
raphy. I  sat  in  the  great  arm-chair  where  Sir 
Walter  Scott  wrote  many  of  his  novels,  and  looked 
out  of  the  window  of  his  bedchamber,  through 
which  came  the  rippling  murmurs  of  the  Tweed, 
that  consoled  his  dying  hours.  I  heartily  sub- 
scribe to  the  opinion,  expressed  by  Tennyson,  that 


GREAT  BRITAIN  SIXTY  YEARS  AGO.         17 

Sir  Walter  Scott  was  the  most  extraordinary  man 
in  British  literature  since  the  days  of  Shakespeare. 

After  reaching  Glasgow  I  made  a  brief  trip  into 
the  Land  of  Burns.  At  the  town  of  Ayr  I  found 
an  omnibus  waiting  to  take  me  down  to  the  birth- 
place of  the  poet.  At  that  time  the  number  of 
visitors  to  these  regions  was  comparatively  few, 
and  the  birthplace  of  the  poet  had  not  been  trans- 
formed, as  now,  into  a  crowded  museum.  On 
reaching  a  slight  elevation,  since  consecrated  by  the 
muse  of  Burns,  there  broke  upon  the  view  his  mon- 
ument, his  native  cottage,  Alloway  Kirk,  the  scene 
of  the  inimitable  Tarn  o'  Shanter,  and  behind  them 
all  the  "Banks  and  Braes  of  Bonnie  Doon."  I 
went  first  to  the  monument,  within  which  on  a 
centre  table  are  the  two  volumes  of  the  Bible  given 
by  Burns  to  Highland  Mary  when  they  "lived  one 
day  of  parting  love"  beneath  the  hawthorn  of  Coils- 
field.  One  of  the  volumes  contains,  in  Burns'  hand- 
writing, "Thou  shalt  not  forswear  thyself,  but  shalt 
perform  unto  the  Lord  thy  vows,"  and  a  lock  of 
Mary's  hair,  of  a  light  brown  color,  given  at  the 
time,  is  preserved  in  the  treasured  volumes.  A 
few  steps  away  is  Alloway  Kirk.  The  old  sexton 
was  standing  by  the  grave  of  Burns'  father,  and 
described  to  me  the  route  of  "Tarn  o'  Shanter."  He 
showed  me  the  chinks  in  the  sides  through  which 
the  kirk  seemed  "all  in  a  bleeze,"  and  he  pointed 


18        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

out  the  identical  place  on  the  wall  where  Old  Nick 
was  presiding  over  the  midnight  revels  of  the 
beldames  when — 

"Louder  and  louder  the  piper  blew, 
Swifter  and  swifter  the  dancers  flew." 

After  the  old  man  had  finished  his  recital,  I  asked 
him  whether  he  had  ever  seen  the  poet.  "Only 
aince,"  he  replied.  "That  was  one  day  when  he  was 
ridin'  on  a  road  near  here.  I  met  a  friend  who  told 
me  to  hurry  up,  for  Rabbie  Burns  was  just  ahead. 
I  whippit  up  my  horse,  and  came  up  to  a  roughly 
dressed  man,  ridin'  slowly  along,  with  his  blue 
bonnet  pulled  down  over  his  forehead,  and  his  eyes 
turned  toward  the  groond."  "Didn't  you  speak  to 
him?"  I  said.  "Nay,  nay,"  replied  the  man,  in  a 
tone  of  deep  reverence,  "he  was  Rabbie  Burns.  / 
dare  na  speak  to  him.  If  he  had  been  any  other 
mon  I  would  have  said  'good  morrow  to  ye.' " 
Beautiful  and  eloquent  tribute,  paid  by  an  unlettered 
peasant,  not  to  rank  or  to  wealth,  but  to  a  soul — 
a  mighty  soul  though  clad  in  "hodden  grey"  like 
himself ! 

The  most  interesting  object  was  yet  to  be  visited 
— the  cottage  of  his  birth.  I  entered  it  with  rever- 
ence ;  and  a  well  dressed,  but  very  old,  woman  wel- 
comed me  in.  "This  is  the  room,"  she  said.  I 
looked  around  on  the  rough  stone  walls  and  could 
not  believe  that  it  ever  contained  such  a  soul ;  for 


GREAT  BRITAIN  SIXTY  YEARS  AGO.         19 

the  cottage,  with  all  its  subsequent  repairs,  was 
hardly  equal  to  the  generality  of  our  early  log 
cabins.  The  old  lady  was  very  affable.  In  her 
early  life  she  had  been  connected  with  an  inn  at 
Mauchline,  and  had  seen  the  poet  often.  "Rabbie 
was  a  funny  fellow,"  she  said ;  "I  ken'd  him  weel ; 
and  he  stoppit  at  our  hoose  on  his  way  up  to  Edin- 
burgh to  see  the  lairds."  I  asked  her  if  he  was 
not  always  humorous.  "Nae,  nae,"  she  replied, 
"he  used  to  come  in  and  sit  doun  wi'  his  hands  in 
his  lap  like  a  bashful  country  lad;  very  glum,  till 
he  got  a  drap  o'  whuskey,  or  heard  a  gude  story, 
and  then  he  was  aff!  He  was  very  poorly  in  his 
latter  days."  Those  closing  days  in  Dumfries, 
steeped  in  poverty  to  the  lips,  forms  one  of  the 
most  tragic  chapters  in  literary  history;  and  I 
know  scarcely  anything  in  our  language  more  pa- 
thetic than  the  letter  which  he  wrote  describing 
his  wretched  bondage  to  the  dominion  of  strong 
drink.  An  old  lady  of  Kilmarnock  told  my  friend, 
the  late  Dr.  Taylor  of  New  York,  that  when  a 
young  woman  she  had  gone  to  Burns'  house  to 
assist  in  preparations  for  his  funeral,  and  stated 
that  there  was  not  enough  decent  linen  in  the  house 
to  lay  out  the  most  splendid  genius  in  all  Scotland ! 
When  I  was  at  Ayr,  a  sister  of  Burns,  Mrs.  Begg, 
was  still  living,  and  I  am  always  regretting  that  I 
did  not  call  upon  her.  His  widow,  Jean  Armour, 


20        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

had  died  but  a  few  years  before;  and  when  a  cer- 
tain pert  American  who  called  upon  the  old  lady 
had  the  audacity  to  ask  her:  "Can  you  show  me 
any  relics  of  the  poet?"  answered  with  majestic 
dignity :  "Sir,  /  am  the  only  relic  of  Robert  Burns." 
1  went  abroad  on  this  first  visit  to  Europe  keen 
for  lion  hunting,  and  with  an  eager  desire  to  see 
some  of  the  men  who  had  been  my  literary  benefac- 
tors. On  my  arrival  in  London,  having  a  letter  of 
introduction  to  Charles  Dickens,  which  a  mutual 
friend  had  given  to  me,  I  resolved  to  present  it. 
Charles  Dickens  was  an  idol  of  my  college  days,  and 
1  had  spent  a  few  minutes  with  him  in  Philadelphia 
during  his  recent  visit  to  the  United  States.  He  had 
returned  from  his  triumphal  tour  about  a  month 
before  I  landed  in  Liverpool.  I  called  at  his  house, 
but  he  was  not  at  home.  The  next  day  he  did  me 
the  honor  to  call  on  me  at  Morley's  Hotel,  and, 
not  finding  me  in,  invited  me  up  to  his  house  near 
York  Gate,  Regents  Park.  It  was  a  dingy,  brick 
house  surrounded  by  a  high  wall,  but  cheerful  and 
cozy  within.  I  found  him  in  his  sanctum,  a  singu- 
larly shaped  room,  with  statuettes  of  Sam  Weller 
and  others  of  his  creations  on  the  mantelpiece. 
A  portrait  of  his  beautiful  wife  was  upon  the  wall 
— that  wife,  the  separation  from  whom  threw  a 
strange,  sad  shadow  over  his  home.  How  hand- 
some he  was  then!  With  his  deep,  dark,  lustrous 


GREAT  BRITAIN  SIXTY  YEARS  AGO.         21 

eyes,  that  you  saw  yourself  in,  and  the  merry  mouth 
wreathed  with  laughter,  and  the  luxuriant  mass  of 
dark  hair  that  he  wore  in  a  sort  of  stack  over  his 
lofty  forehead !  He  had  a  slight  lisp  in  his  pleasant 
voice,  and  ran  on  in.  rapid  talk  for  an  hour,  with 
a  shy  reluctance  to  talk  about  his  own  works,  but 
with  the  most  superabounding  vivacity  I  have  ever 
met  with  in  any  man.  His  two  daughters,  one  of 
whom  afterward  married  the  younger  Collins,  a 
brother  novelist,  were  then  schoolgirls  of  eight 
and  ten  years,  came  in,  with  books  in  their  hands, 
to  give  their  father  a  good-morning  kiss.  After 
parting  with  him,  when  I  had  reached  his  gate, 
he  called  after  me  in  a  very  loud  voice,  "If  you  see 
Mrs.  Lucretia  Mott,  tell  her  that  I  have  not  for- 
gotten the  slave."  His  "American  Notes"  appeared 
the  next  week.  There  were  some  things  in  that 
hasty  and  faulty  volume  for  which  I  sent  him  a 
cordial  note  of  thanks,  and  I  speedily  received  the 
following  characteristic  reply,  which  I  still  prize  as 
a  precious  relic  of  the  man : 

i  DEVONSHIRE  TERRACE, 
REGENTS  PARK,  Oct.  26th,  1842. 

MY  DEAR  SIR: — I  am  heartily  obliged  to  you  for  your 
frank  and  manly  letter.  I  shall  always  remember  it  in  con- 
nection with  my  American  book;  and  never — believe  me 
— save  in  the  foremost  rank  of  its  pleasant  and  honorable 
associations. 

Let  me  subscribe  myself,   as  I  really  am 

Faithfully  your  Friend, 

CHARLES  DICKENS. 
Mr.  Theodore  Ledyard  Cuyler. 


32        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

I  hold  that  Dickens  was  the  most  original  genius 
in  our  fictitious  literature  since  the  days  of  Walter 
Scott.  As  a  social  reformer  his  fame  is  quite 
as  great  as  it  is  as  a  master  of  romance.  His 
pen  was  mighty  to  the  pulling  down  of  many  a 
social  abuse,  and  from  the  loving  kindness  of  his 
writings  has  been  got  many  an  inspiration  to  deeds 
of  charity.  But  how  could  a  man  who  went  so  far 
as  he  did  go  no  further?  How  could  the  reformer 
who  struck  at  so  many  social  wrongs  spare  that 
hideous  fountain-head  of  misery  in  London,  the 
dram-shop?  And  how  could  he  descend  to  scur- 
rilously  satirize  all  societies  formed  for  the  promo- 
tion of  temperance?  A  still  greater  marvel  is  that 
so  kind-hearted  a  man  as  Mr.  Dickens,  who  sought 
honestly  the  amelioration  of  the  condition  of  his 
fellow-men,  could  utterly  ignore  the  transforming 
power  of  Christianity.  He  did  not  cast  contempt 
on  the  Bible,  and  never  soiled  his  pages  with  infidel- 
ity; neither  did  he  ever  enlighten,  and  warm  and 
vivify  them  with  evangelical  uplifting  truth.  Only 
a  few  feet  of  earth  separate  the  grave  of  Charles 
Dickens  from  the  grave  of  William  Wilberforce. 
Both  loved  their  fellow-men;  but  the  great  differ- 
ence between  them  was  that  one  of  them  invoked 
the  spiritual  power  of  the  Gospel  of  Christ,  which 
the  other  lamentably  ignored. 


CHAPTER  III 

GREAT   BRITAIN   SIXTY  YEARS   AGO    (Continued) 

Carlyle — Mrs.  Baillie — The  Young  Queen — 
Napoleon 

ONE  of  the  lions  of  whom  I  was  in  pursuit  was 
Thomas  Carlyle.  Very  few  Americans  at  that 
time  had  ever  seen  him,  for  he  lived  a  very  secluded 
and  laborious  life  in  a  little  brick  house  at  Chelsea, 
in  the  southwest  of  London;  and  he  rarely  kept 
open  doors.  His  life  was  the  opposite  to  that 
of  Dickens  and  Macaulay,  and  he  was  never  lion- 
ized, except  when  he  went  to  Edinburgh  to  deliver 
his  address  before  the  University,  years  afterwards. 
I  sent  him  a  note  in  which  I  informed  him  of  the 
enthusiastic  admiration  which  we  college  students 
felt  for  him,  and  that  I  desired  to  call  and  pay  him 
my  respects.  To  my  note  he  responded  promptly: 
"You  will  be  welcome  to-morrow  at  three  o'clock, 
the  hour  when  I  become  accessible  in  my  garret 
here."  I  found  his  "garret"  to  be  a  comfortable 
front  room  on  the  second  floor  of  his  modest  home. 
It  was  well  lined  with  books,  and  a  portrait  of 
Oliver  Cromwell  hung  behind  his  study  chair.  He 

23 


24        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

was  seated  at  his  table  with  a  huge  German  volume 
open  before  him.  His  greeting  was  very  hearty, 
but,  with  a  comical  look  of  surprise,  he  said  in 
broad  Scotch :  "You  are  a  verra  young  mon."  I 
told  him  of  the  appetite  we  college  boys  had  for  his 
books,  and  he  assured  me  at  once  that  while  he 
had  met  some  of  our  eminent  literary  men  he  had 
never  happened  to  meet  a  college  boy  before. 
"Your  Mr.  Longfellow,"  said  he,  "called  to  see 
me  yesterday.  He  is  a  man  skilled  in  the  tongues. 
Your  own  name  I  see  is  Dootch.  The  word 
'Cuyler'  means  a  delver,  or  one  who  digs  under- 
ground. You  must  be  a  Dutchman."  I  told  him 
that  my  ancestors  had  come  over  from  Holland  a 
couple  of  centuries  ago,  and  I  was  proud  of  my 
lineage;  for  my  grandfather,  Glen  Cuyler,  was  a 
descendant  of  Hendrick  Cuyler,  one  of  the  early 
Dutch  settlers  of  Albany,  who  came  there  in 
1667.  "Ah,"  said  he,  "the  Dootch  are  the  braw- 
vest  people  of  modern  times.  The  world  has  been 
rinnin'  after  a  red  rag  of  a  Frenchman ;  but  he  was 
nothing  to  William  the  Silent.  When  Pheelip  of 
Spain  sent  his  Duke  of  Alva  to  squelch  those  Dutch- 
men they  joost  squelched  him  like  a  rotten  egg — 
aye,  they  did." 

I  asked  him  why  he  didn't  visit  America,  and 
told  him  that  I  had  observed  his  name  registered 
at  Ambleside,  on  Lake  Windermere.  "Nae,  nae," 


GREAT  BRITAIN  SIXTY  YEARS  AGO.         25 

said  he,  "I  never  scrabble  my  name  in  public 
places."  I  explained  that  it  was  on  the  hotel 
register  that  I  had  seen  "Thomas  Carlyle."  "It 
was  not  mine,"  he  replied,  "I  never  travel  only 
when  I  ride  on  a  horse  in  the  teeth  of  the  wind 
to  get  out  of  this  smoky  London.  I  would  like 
to  see  America.  You  may  boast  of  your 
Dimocracy,  or  any  other  'cracy,  or  any  other  kind 
of  political  roobish,  but  the  reason  why  your  labor- 
ing folk  are  so  happy  is  that  you  have  a  vast  deal  of 
land  for  a  very  few  people."  In  this  racy,  pictur- 
esque vein  he  ran  on  for  an  hour  in  the  most 
cordial,  good  humor.  He  was  then  in  his  prime, 
hale  and  athletic,  with  a  remarkably  keen  blue 
eye,  a  strong  lower  jaw  and  stiff  iron  gray  hair, 
brushed  up  from  a  capacious  forehead;  and  he 
had  a  look  of  a  sturdy  country  deacon  dressed  up 
on  a  Sunday  morning  for  church.  He  was  very 
carefully  attired  in  a  new  suit  that  day  for  visiting, 
and,  as  I  rose  to  leave,  he  said  to  me :  "I  am  going 
up  into  London  and  I  will  walk  wi'  ye."  We  sallied 
out  and  he  strode  the  pavement  with  long  strides  like 
a  plowman.  I  told  him  I  had  just  come  from  the 
land  of  Burns,  and  that  the  old  man  at  the  native 
cottage  of  the  poet  had  drunk  himself  to  death 
by  drinking  to  the  memory  of  Burns. 

At  this  Carlyle  laughed  loudly,  and  remarked: 
"Was  that  the  end  of  him?    Ah,  a  wee  bit  drap 


26        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

will  send  a  mon  a  lang  way."  He  then  told  me 
that  when  he  was  a  lad  he  used  to  go  into  the 
Kirkyard  at  Dumfries  and,  hunting  out  the  poet's 
tomb,  he  loved  to  stand  and  just  read  over  the 
name— "Rabbert  Burns"— "Rabbert  Burns."  He 
pronounced  the  name  with  deep  reverence.  That 
picture  of  the  country  lad  in  his  earliest  act  of 
hero-worship  at  the  grave  of  Burns  would  have 
been  a  good  subject  for  the  pencil  of  Millais  or 
of  Holman  Hunt.  At  the  corner  of  Hyde  Park  I 
parted  from  Mr.  Carlyle,  and  watched  him  striding 
away,  as  if,  like  the  De'il  in  "Tarn  O'Shanter," 
he  had  "business  on  his  hand." 

Thirty  years  afterwards,  in  June,  1872,  I  felt  an 
irrepressible  desire  to  see  the  grand  old  man 
once  more,  and  I  accordingly  addressed  him  a  note 
requesting  the  favor  of  a  few  minutes'  interview. 
His  reply  was,  perhaps,  the  briefest  letter  ever 
written.  It  was  simply: 

"Three  P.  M. 

T.  C." 

He  told  me  afterwards  that  his  hand  had 
become  so  tremulous  that  he  seldom  touched  a 
pen.  My  beloved  friend,  the  Rev.  Newman  Hall, 
asked  the  privilege  of  accompanying  me,  as,  like 
most  Londoners,  he  had  never  put  his  eye  on  the 
recluse  philosopher.  We  found  the  same  old  brick 
house,  No.  5  Cheyne  Row,  Chelsea,  without  the 


GREAT  BRITAIN  SIXTY  YEARS  AGO.         27 

slightest  change  outside  or  in.  But,  during  those 
thirty  years  the  gifted  wife  had  departed,  and  a 
sad  change  had  come  over  the  once  hale,  stalwart 
man.  After  we  had  waited  some  time,  a  feeble, 
stooping  figure,  attired  in  a  long  blue  flannel  gown, 
moved  slowly  into  the  room.  His  gray  hair  was 
unkempt,  his  blue  eyes  were  still  keen  and  pierc- 
ing, and  a  bright  hectic  spot  of  red  appeared  on 
each  of  his  hollow  cheeks.  His  hands  were  trem- 
ulous, and  his  voice  deep  and  husky.  After  a  few 
personal  inquiries  the  old  man  launched  out  into  a 
most  extraordinary  and  characteristic  harangue  on 
the  wretched  degeneracy  of  these  evil  days.  The 
prophet,  Jeremiah,  was  cheerfulness  itself  in  com- 
parison with  him.  Many  of  the  raciest  things 
he  regaled  us  with  were  entirely  too  personal  for 
publication.  He  amused  us  with  a  description  of 
half  a  night's  debate  with  John  Bright  on  political 
economy,  while  he  said,  "Bright  theed  and  thoud 
with  me  for  hours,  while  his  Quaker  wife  sat  up 
hearin'  us  baith.  I  tell  ye,  John  Bright  got  as 
gude  as  he  gie  that  night" ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  that 
he  did. 

Most  of  his  extraordinary  harangue  was  like  an 
eruption  of  Vesuvius,  but  the  laugh  he  occasion- 
ally gave  showed  that  he  was  talking  about  as  much 
for  his  own  amusement  as  for  ours.  He  was  ter- 
ribly severe  on  Parliament,  which  he  described  as 


28         RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

"endless    babblement    and    windy    talk — the    same 
hurdy-gurdies    grinding    out    lies    and    inanities." 
The  only  man  he  had  ever  heard  in  Parliament 
that  at  all  satisfied  him  was  the  Old  Iron  Duke. 
"  He  gat  up  and  stammered  away  for  fifteen  min- 
utes; but  I  tell  ye,  he  was  the  only  mon  in  Parlia- 
ment who  gie  us  any  credible  portraiture  of  the 
facts."     He  looked  up  at  the  portrait  of  Oliver 
Cromwell  behind  him,  and  exclaimed  with  great 
vehemence:  "I  ha'  gone  doon  to  the  verra  bottom 
of  Oliver's  speeches,  and  naething  in  Demosthenes 
or  in  any  other  mon  will  compare  wi'  Cromwell 
in  penetrating  into  the  veritable  core  of  the  fact. 
Noo,  Parliament,  as  they  ca'  it,  is  joost  everlasting 
babblement  and  lies."     We  led  him  to  discuss  the 
labor  question  and  the  condition  of  the  working 
classes.     He  said  that  the  turmoil  about  labor  is 
only  "a  lazy  trick  of  master  and  man  to  do  just  as 
little  honest  work  and  to  get  just  as  much  for  it 
as  they  possibly  can — that  is  the  labor  question." 
It  did  my  soul  good,  as  a  teetotaler,  to  hear  his 
scathing  denunciation  of  the  liquor  traffic.    He  was 
fierce  in  his  wrath  against  "the  horrible  and  detest- 
able damnation  of  whuskie  and  every  kind  of  strong 
drink."     In  this  strain  the  thin  and  weird  looking 
old  Iconoclast  went  on  for  an  hour  until  he  wound 
up  with  declaring,  "England  has  joost  gane  clear 
doon  into  an  abominable  cesspool  of  lies,  shoddies 


GREAT  BRITAIN  SIXTY  YEARS  AGO.         29 

and  shams — down  to  a  bottomless  damnation.  Ye 
may  gie  whatever  meaning  to  that  word  that  ye 
like."  He  could  not  refrain  from  laughing  heartily 
himself  at  the  conclusion  of  this  eulogy  on  his 
countrymen.  If  we  had  not  known  that  Mr.  Carlyle 
had  a  habit  of  exercising  himself  in  this  kind  of 
talk,  we  should  have  felt  a  sort  of  consternation. 
As  it  was  we  enjoyed  it  as  a  postscript  to  "Sartor 
Resartus"  or  the  "Latter  Day"  pamphlets,  and  lis- 
tened and  laughed  accordingly.  As  we  were  about 
parting  from  him  with  a  cordial  and  tender  fare- 
well, my  friend,  Newman  Hall,  handed  him  a  copy 
of  his  celebrated  little  book,  "Come  to  Jesus."  Mr. 
Carlyle,  leaning  over  his  table,  fixed  his  eye  upon 
the  inscription  on  the  outside  of  the  booklet,  and  as 
we  left  the  room,  we  heard  him  repeating  to  him- 
self the  title  "Coom  to  Jesus — Coom  to  Jesus." 

About  Carlyle's  voluminous  works,  his  glorious 
eulogies  of  Luther,  Knox  and  Cromwell,  his  vivid 
histories,  his  pessimistic  utterances,  his  hatred  of 
falsehood  and  his  true,  pure  and  laborious  life,  I 
have  no  time  or  space  to  write.  He  was  the  last  of 
the  giants  in  one  department  of  British  literature. 
He  will  outlive  many  an  author  who  slumbers  in 
the  great  Abbey.  I  owe  him  grateful  thanks  for 
many  quickening,  stimulating  thoughts,  and  shall 
always  be  thankful  that  I  grasped  the  strong  hand 
of  Thomas  Carlyle. 


30        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

One  of  the  literary  celebrities  to  whom  I  had 
credentials  was  the  venerable  Mrs.  Joanna  Baillie, 
not  now  much  read,  but  then  well  known  from  her 
writings  and  her  intimacy  with  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
and  to  whom  Lockhart  devotes  a  considerable  space 
in  the  biography.  Her  residence  was  in  Hampstead, 
and  I  was  obliged,  after  leaving  the  omnibus,  to 
walk  nearly  a  mile  across  open  fields  which  are 
now  completely  built  over  by  mighty  London.  The 
walk  proved  a  highly  profitable  one  from  the  society 
of  an  intelligent  stranger  who,  like  every  true 
English  gentleman,  when  properly  approached,  was 
led  to  give  all  the  information  in  his  power.  When 
I  reached  the  suburban  village  of  Hampstead,  after 
passing  over  stiles  and  through  fields,  I  at  last 
succeeded  in  finding  her  residence,  a  quiet  little 
cottage,  with  a  little  parlor  which  had  been  honored 
by  some  of  the  first  characters  of  our  age.  "The 
female  Shakespeare,"  as  she  was  sometimes  called  in 
those  days,  was  at  home  and  tripped  into  the  room 
with  the  elastic  step  of  a  girl,  although  she  was 
considerably  over  three  score  years  and  ten.  She 
was  very  petite  and  fair,  with  a  sweet  benignant 
countenance  that  inspired  at  once  admiration  and 
affection.  Almost  her  first  words  to  me  were: 
"What  a  pity  you  did  not  come  ten  minutes  sooner ; 
for  if  you  had  you  would  have  seen  Mr.  Thomas 
Campbell,  who  has  just  gone  away."  I  was  ex- 


GREAT  BRITAIN  SIXTY  YEARS  AGO.         31 

ceedingly  sorry  to  have  missed  a  sight  of  the  author 
of  "Hohenlinden"  and  the  incomparable  "Battle 
of  the  Baltic,"  but  was  quite  surprised  that  he  was 
still  seeking  much  society ;  for  in  those  days  he  was 
lamentably  addicted  to  intoxicants.  On  more  than 
one  public  occasion  he  was  the  worse  for  his  cups ; 
and  when,  after  his  death,  a  subscription  was 
started  to  place  his  statue  in  Westminster  Abbey, 
Samuel  Rogers,  the  poet,  cynically  said,  "Yes,  I 
will  gladly  give  twenty  pounds  any  day  to  see  dear 
old  Tom  Campbell  stand  steady  on  his  legs."  It 
is  a  matter  of  congratulation  that  the  most  eminent 
men  of  the  Victorian  era  have  not  fallen  into  some 
of  the  unhappy  habits  of  their  predecessors  at  the 
beginning  of  the  last  century.  Mrs.  Baillie  enter- 
tained me  with  lively  descriptions  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  and  of  her  old  friend,  Mr.  Wordsworth,  who 
was  her  guest  whenever  he  came  up  to  London. 
She  expressed  the  warmest  admiration  for  the 
moral  and  political,  though  not  all  of  the  religious, 
writings  of  our  Dr.  Channing,  whom  she  pro- 
nounced the  finest  essayist  of  the  time.  She  also 
felt  a  curious  interest  (which  I  discovered  in  many 
other  notable  people  in  England)  to  learn  what  she 
could  in  regard  to  our  American  Indians,  and  ex- 
pressed much  admiration  when  I  gave  her  some 
quotations  from  the  picturesque  eloquence  of  our 
sons  of  the  forest. 


32        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

Every  American  who  visited  London  in  those 
days  felt  a  laudable  curiosity  to  see  the  young 
Queen,  who  had  been  crowned  but  four  years  be- 
fore. I  went  up  to  Windsor  Castle,  and  after  in- 
specting it,  joined  a  little  group  of  people  who  were 
standing  at  the  gateway  which  leads  out  to  the 
Long  Drive  and  Virginia  Water.  They  were  wait- 
ing to  get  a  look  at  the  young  Queen,  who  always 
drove  out  at  four  o'clock.  Presently  the  gate 
opened  and  a  low  carriage,  preceded  by  three 
horsemen,  passed  through.  It  contained  a  plump 
baby,  nearly  two  years  of  age,  wrapped  in  a  buff 
cloak  and  held  up  in  the  arms  of  its  nurse.  That 
baby  became  the  Empress  Dowager  of  Germany, 
the  mother  of  the  present  Kaiser  and  of  Prince 
Henry,  who  has  lately  been  our  guest.  In  a  few 
minutes  afterwards  a  pony  phaeton,  with  two 
horses,  passed  through  the  gate  and  we  all  doffed 
our  hats.  It  was  driven  by  handsome  young  Prince 
Albert,  dressed  in  a  gray  overcoat  and  silk  hat. 
To  this  day  I  think  of  him  as  about  the  most  capti- 
vating young  husband  that  I  have  ever  seen.  By 
his  side  sat  his  young  wife,  dresed  in  a  small  white 
bonnet  with  pink  feather  and  wrapped  in  a  white 
shawl.  Her  complexion  was  exceedingly  fresh  and 
fair.  Her  light  brown  hair  was  dressed  in  the 
"Grecian"  style,  and  as  she  bowed  gracefully  I 
observed  the  peculiarity  of  her  smile — that  she 


GREAT  BRITAIN  SIXTY  YEARS  AGO.         33 

showed  her  teeth  very  distinctly.  This  resulted  from 
the  shortness  of  her  upper  lip.  "A  pretty  girl  she 
is  too"  was  the  remark  I  heard  from  the  visitors 
as  the  carriage  went  on  down  the  drive.  That  was 
my  first  glimpse  of  royalty,  and  I  little  dreamed  that 
she  was  to  be  the  longest  lived  sovereign  that  ever 
sat  on  the  British  throne,  and  the  most  popular 
woman  in  all  modern  times. 

Thirty  years  rolled  away  and  I  saw  the  good 
Queen  again.  The  Albert  Memorial,  erected  to  the 
handsome  Prince  Consort,  whom  she  idolized,  had 
just  been  completed,  and  one  morning  the  Queen 
came  incognito  to  make  her  first  private  inspection 
of  the  memorial.  Through  the  intimation  of  a 
friend  I  hurried  at  once  to  the  Park,  and  found 
a  small  company  of  people  gathered  there.  Her 
Majesty  had  just  come,  accompanied  by  Prince 
Arthur,  the  Princess  Louise  and  the  young  Prin- 
cess Beatrice;  and  they  were  examining  the  gorgeous 
new  structure.  The  Queen  wore  a  plain  black  silk 
dress  and  her  children  were  very  plainly  attired, 
so  that  they  looked  like  a  group  of  good,  honest 
republicans.  The  only  evidence  of  royalty  was  that 
the  company  of  gentlemen  who  were  pointing  out 
to  the  Queen  the  various  beauties  of  the  monu- 
ment just  completed  were  careful  not  to  turn  their 
backs  upon  Her  Majesty.  I  observed  that  when  her 
children  bade  her  "good  morning"  they  kneeled 


34        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

and  kissed  her  hand.  She  remained  sitting  in  her 
carriage  for  some  time,  chatting  and  laughing  with 
her  daughter  Beatrice.  Her  countenance  had  be- 
come very  florid  and  her  figure  very  stout.  The  last 
time  that  I  saw  her  driving  in  the  Park  her  full, 
rubicund  face  made  her  look  not  only  like  the 
venerable  grandmother  of  a  host  of  descendants, 
but  of  the  whole  vast  empire  on  which  the  sun 
never  sets.  Last  year  the  most  beloved  sovereign 
that  has  ever  occupied  the  British  throne  was  laid 
in  the  gorgeous  mausoleum  at  Frogmore  beside  the 
husband  of  her  youth  and  the  sharer  of  twenty-two 
years  of  happy  and  holy  wedlock.  All  Christendom 
was  a  mourner  beside  that  royal  tomb. 

From  London  I  went  on  a  very  brief  visit  to 
Paris,  at  the  time  when  Louis  Phillipe  was  at  the 
height  of  his  power  and  apparently  securely  seated 
on  his  throne.  Within  a  half  a  dozen  years  from 
that  time  he  was  a  refugee  in  disguise,  and  the 
kingdom  of  France  was  followed  by  the  Republic  of 
Lamartine.  My  brief  visit  to  Paris  was  made  more 
agreeable  by  the  fact  that  my  kinsman,  the  Hon. 
Henry  Ledyard,  was  then  in  charge  of  the  Ameri- 
can Embassy,  in  the  absence  of  his  father-in-law, 
General  Lewis  Cass,  our  Ambassador,  who  had  re- 
turned to  America  for  a  visit.  The  one  memorable 
incident  of  that  brief  sojourn  in  Paris  that  I  shall 
recall  was  a  visit  to  the  tomb  of  Napoleon,  whose 


GREAT  BRITAIN  SIXTY  YEARS  AGO.         35 

remains  had  been  brought  home  the  year  before 
from  the  Island  of  St.  Helena.  Passing  through  the 
Place  de  la  Concord  and  crossing  the  Seine,  a  ten 
minutes'  walk  brought  me  to  the  Hospital  des  In- 
valides.  I  reached  it  in  the  morning  when  the 
court  in  front  was  filled  with  about  three  hundred 
veterans  on  an  early  parade.  Many  of  them  were 
the  shattered  relics  of  Napoleon's  Grand  Army — 
glorious  old  fellows  in  cocked  hats  and  long  blue 
coats,  and  weather-beaten  as  the  walls  around  them. 
After  a  few  moments  I  hurried  into  the  Rotunda, 
which  is  nearly  one  hundred  feet  in  height,  sur- 
rounded by  six  small  recesses,  or  alcoves.  "Where 
is  Napoleon?"  said  I  to  one  of  the  sentinels. 
"There,"  said  he,  pointing  to  a  recess,  or  small 
chapel,  hung  with  dark  purple  velvet  and  lighted 
by  one  glimmering  lamp.  I  approached  the  iron  rail- 
ing and,  there  before  me,  almost  within  arm's  length, 
in  the  marble  coffin  covered  by  his  gray  riding 
coat  of  Marengo,  lay  all  that  was  mortal  of  the 
great  Emperor.  At  his  feet  was  a  small  urn  con- 
taining his  heart,  and  upon  it  lay  his  sword  and  the 
military  cap  worn  at  the  battle  of  Eylau.  Beside 
the  coffin  was  gathered  a  group  of  tattered  banners 
captured  by  him  in  many  a  victorious  fight.  Three 
gray-haired  veterans,  whose  breasts  were  covered 
with  medals,  were  pacing  slowly  on  guard  in  front 
of  the  alcove.  I  said  to  them  in  French:  "Were 


36        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

you  at  Austerlitz  ?"  "Oui,  oui,"  they  said.  "Were 
you  at  Jena?"  "Oui,  oui."  "AtWagram?"  "Oui, 
oui,"  they  replied.  I  lingered  long  at  the  spot, 
listening  to  the  inspiring  strains  of  the  soldiery 
without,  and  recalling  to  my  mind  the  stirring  days 
when  the  lifeless  clay  beside  me  was  dashing  for- 
ward at  the  head  of  those  very  troops  through  the 
passes  of  the  Alps  and  over  the  bridge  at  Lodi.  It 
seemed  to  me  as  a  dream,  and  I  could  scarcely 
realize  that  I  stood  within  a  few  feet  of  the  actual 
body  of  that  colossal  wonder-worker  whose  extra- 
ordinary combination  of  military  and  civil  genius 
surpassed  that  of  any  other  man  in  modern  history. 
And  yet,  when  all  shall  be  summoned  at  last  before 
the  Great  Tribunal,  a  Wilberforce,  a  Shaftesbury, 
or  an  Abraham  Lincoln  will  never  desire  to  change 
places  with  him. 


HYMN- WRITERS    I    HAVE    KNOWN 

Montgomery — Bonar — Boivring — Palmer 
and   Others 

HYMNOLOGY  has  always  been  a  favorite  study 
with  me,  and  it  has  been  my  privilege  to  be  ac- 
quainted with  several  of  the  most  eminent  hymn- 
writers  within  the  last  sixty  or  seventy  years.  It 
is  a  remarkable  fact  that  among  the  distinguished 
English-speaking  poets,  Cowper  and  Montgomery 
are  the  only  ones  who  have  been  successful  in  pro- 
ducing many  popular  hymns;  while  the  greatest 
hymns  have  been  the  compositions  either  of  min- 
isters of  the  Gospel,  like  Watts,  Wesley,  Toplady, 
Doddridge,  Newman,  Lyte,  Bonar  and  Ray  Palmer, 
or  by  godly  women,  like  Charlotte  Elliott,  Mrs. 
Sarah  F.  Adams,  Miss  Havergal  and  Mrs.  Prentiss. 
During  my  visit  to  Great  Britain  in  the  summer  of 
1842,  I  spent  a  few  weeks  at  Sheffield  as  the  guest 
of  Mr.  Edward  Vickers,  the  ex-Mayor  of  the  city. 
His  near  neighbor  was  the  venerable  James  Mont- 
gomery, whose  pupil  he  had  been  during  the  short 
time  that  the  poet  conducted  a  school.  Mr.  Vickers 

37 


38        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

took  me  to  visit  the  poet  at  his  residence  at  The 
Mount.  A  short,  brisk,  cheery  old  man,  then 
seventy-one,  came  into  the  room  with  a  spry  step. 
He  wore  a  suit  of  black,  with  old-fashioned  dress 
ruffles,  and  a  high  cravat  that  looked  as  if  it  choked 
him.  His  complexion  was  fresh,  and  snowy  hair 
crowned  a  noble  forehead.  He  had  never  married, 
but  resided  with  a  relative.  We  chatted  about 
America,  and  I  told  him  that  in  all  our  churches 
his  hymns  were  great  favorites.  I  unfortunately 
happened  to  mention  that  when  lately  in  Glasgow 
I  had  gone  to  hear  the  Rev.  Robert  Montgomery, 
the  author  of  "Satan,"  and  other  poems.  It  was  this 
"Satan  Montgomery"  whom  Macaulay  had  scalped 
with  merciless  criticism  in  the  Edinburgh  Review. 
The  mention  of  his  name  aroused  the  old  poet's  ire. 
"Would  you  believe  it?"  he  exclaimed,  indignantly, 
"they  attribute  some  of  that  fellow's  performances 
to  me,  and  lately  a  lady  wrote  to  me  in  reference  to 
one  of  his  most  pompous  poems,  and  said  "it  was 
the  best  that  I  had  ever  written!"  I  do  not  wonder 
at  my  venerable  friend's  vexation,  for  there  was  a 
world-wide  contrast  between  his  own  chaste  sim- 
plicity and  the  stilted  pomposity  of  his  Glasgow 
namesake.  Montgomery,  though  born  a  Moravian 
and  educated  at  a  Moravian  school,  was  a  constant 
worshipper  at  St.  George's  Episcopal  Church,  in 
Sheffield.  The  people  of  the  town  were  very  proud 


HYMN-WRITERS  I  HAVE  KNOWN.  39 

of  their  celebrated  townsman,  and  after  his  death 
gave  him  a  public  funeral,  and  erected  a  bronze 
statue  to  his  memory.  While  he  was  the  author  of 
several  volumes  of  poetry,  his  enduring  fame  rests 
on  his  hymns,  some  of  which  will  be  sung  in  all 
lands  through  coming  generations.  Four  hundred 
own  his  parentage  and  one  hundred  at  least  are  in 
common  use  throughout  Christendom.  He  pro- 
duced a  single  verse  that  has  hardly  been  surpassed 
in  all  hymnology : 

"Here  in  the  body  pent 

Absent  from  Him  I  roam, 
Yet  nightly  pitch  my  moving  tent, 

A  day's  march  nearer  home." 

Hymnology  has  known  no  denominational  bar- 
riers. While  Toplady  was  an  Episcopalian,  Wesley 
a  Methodist,  Newman  and  Faber  Roman  Catholics, 
Montgomery  a  Moravian,  and  Bonar  a  Presbyterian, 
the  magnificent  hymn, 

"In  the  cross  of  Christ  I  glory," 

was  written  by  a  Unitarian.  I  had  the  great  satis- 
faction of  meeting  its  author,  Sir  John  Bowring,  at 
a  public  dinner  in  London  during  the  summer  of 
1872.  A  fresh,  handsome  veteran  he  was,  too  — 
tall  and  straight  as  a  ramrod,  and  exceedingly  win- 
some in  his  manners.  He  had  been  famous  as  the 
editor  of  the  Westminster  Review  and  quite  fa- 
mous in  civil  life,  for  he  was  a  member  of  the 
British  Parliament  and  once  had  been  the  Cover- 


40        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

nor  of  Hong  Kong.  He  produced  several  volumes, 
but  will  owe  his  immortality  to  half  a  dozen  superb 
hymns.  Of  these  the  best  is  "In  the  cross  of  Christ 
I  glory";  but  we  also  owe  to  him  that  fine  mis- 
sionary hymn, 

"Watchman,  tell  us  of  the  night." 

He  told  my  Presbyterian  friend,  Dr.  Harper,  in 
China,  that  the  first  time  he  ever  heard  it  sung  was 
at  a  prayer  meeting  of  American  missionaries  in 
Turkey.  Sir  John  died  about  four  months  after  I 
had  met  him,  at  the  ripe  age  of  eighty,  and  on  his 
monument  is  inscribed  only  this  single  appropriate 
line,  "In  the  cross  of  Christ  I  glory." 

The  first  time  I  ever  saw  Dr.  Horatius  Bonar  was 
in  May,  1872,  when  I  was  attending  the  Free  Church 
General  Assembly  of  Scotland  as  a  delegate  from  the 
Presbyterian  Church  in  the  United  States.  A  warm 
discussion  was  going  on  in  the  Assembly  anent 
proposals  of  union  with  the  U.  P.  body,  and  the 
Anti-Unionists  sat  together  on  the  left  hand  of  the 
Moderator's  chair.  In  the  third  row  sat  a  short, 
broad-shouldered  man  with  noble  forehead  and  soft 
dark  eyes.  But  behind  that  benign  countenance  was 
a  spirit  as  pugnacious  in  ecclesiastical  controversy 
as  that  of  the  Roman  Horatius  "who  kept  the  bridge 
in  the  brave  days  of  old."  I  was  glad  to  be  intro- 
duced to  him,  for  I  was  an  enthusiastic  admirer  of 
his  hymns,  and  I  had  a  personal  affection  for  his 


HYMN-WRITERS  I  HAVE  KNOWN.  41 

brother,  Andrew,  the  author  of  the  delightful  "Life 
of  M'Cheyne."  Although  Horatius  had  won  his 
world-wide  fame  as  a  composer  of  hymns,  he  was, 
at  that  time,  stoutly  opposed  to  the  use  of  any- 
thing but  the  old  Scotch  version  of  the  Psalms  in 
church  worship.  During  my  address  to  the  As- 
sembly I  said :  "We  Presbyterians  in  America  sing 
the  good  old  psalms  of  David."  At  this  point  Dr. 
Bonar  led  in  a  round  of  applause,  and  then  I  con- 
tinued :  "We  also  sing  the  Gospel  of  Jesus  Christ 
as  versified  by  Watts,  Wesley,  Cowper,  Toplady  and 
your  own  Horatius  Bonar."  There  was  a  burst  of 
laughter,  and  then  I  rather  mischievously  added: 
"My  own  people  have  the  privilege,  not  accorded  to 
my  brother's  congregation,  of  singing  his  magnifi- 
cent hymns."  By  this  time  the  whole  house  came 
down  in  a  perfect  roar,  and  the  confused 
blush  on  Bonar's  face  puzzled  us — whether  it 
was  on  account  of  the  compliment,  or  on  account 
of  his  own  inconsistency.  However,  before  his 
death  he  consented  to  have  his  own  congregation 
sing  his  own  hymns,  although  it  is  said  that  two 
pragmatical  elders  rose  and  strode  indignantly  down 
the  aisle  of  the  church. 

In  August,  1889,  when  I  was  on  a  visit  to  Chil- 
lingham  Castle,  Lady  Tankerville  said  to  me :  "Our 
dear  Bonar  is  dead."  I  left  the  next  day  for  Edin- 
burgh and  reached  there  in  time  to  bear  an  humble 


42        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

part  in  the  funeral  services.  On  the  day  of  his 
obsequies  there  was  a  tremendous  downpour,  which 
reminded  me  of  the  story  of  the  Scotchman,  who, 
on  arriving  in  Australia,  met  one  of  his  country- 
men, who  said  to  him:  "Hae  ye  joost  come  fra 
Scotland  and  is  it  rainin'  yet?"  But  in  spite  of  the 
storm  the  Morningside  Church,  by  the  entrance  to 
the  Grange  Cemetery,  was  well  filled  by  a  repre- 
sentative assembly.  The  service  was  confined  to  the 
reading  of  the  Scriptures,  to  two  prayers  and  the 
singing  of  Bonar's  beautiful  hymn,  the  last  verse  of 
which  is 

"Broken  Death's  dread  hands  that  bound  us, 
Life  and  victory  around  us; 
Christ  the  King  Himself  hath  crown'd  us, 
Ah,  'tis  Heaven  at  last." 

As  I  was  the  only  American  present  I  was  re- 
quested to  close  the  service  with  a  brief  word  of 
prayer ;  and  I  rode  down  to  the  Canongate  Cemetery 
with  grand  old  Principal  John  Cairns  (who  Dr. 
McCosh  told  me  "had  the  best  head  in  Scotland"), 
and  Bonar's  colleague,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Sloane.  On 
our  way  to  the  place  of  burial  Mr.  Sloane  told  me 
that  Bonar's  two  finest  hymns, 

"I  heard  the  voice  of  Jesus  say,"  etc.. 
and 

"I  lay  my  sins  on  Jesus,"  etc., 

were  originally  composed  for  the  children  of  his 
Sabbath  school.  And  yet  they  are  the  productions 


HYMN-WRITERS  I  HAVE  KNOWN.  43 

by  which  he  has  become  most  widely  known 
throughout  Christendom.  The  storm-swept  streets 
that  day  were  lined  with  silent  mourners ;  and, 
under  weeping  skies,  we  laid  down  to  his  rest  the 
mortal  remains  of  the  man  who  attuned  more  voices 
to  the  melodies  of  praise  than  any  Scotchman  of 
the  century. 

Our  own  country  has  been  very  prolific  in  the 
production  of  hymns.  The  venerable  and  devout 
blind  songstress,  Fanny  Crosby  (whom  I  often 
meet  at  the  house  of  my  beloved  neighbor,  Mr.  Ira 
D.  Sankey),  has  produced  very  many  hundreds  of 
them — none  of  very  high  poetic  merit,  but  many 
of  them  of  such  rich  spiritual  savour,  and  set  to 
such  stirring  airs,  that  they  are  sung  by  millions 
around  the  globe.  By  common  consent  in  all  Amer- 
ican hymnology  the  hymn  commencing 

"My  faith  looks  up  to  Thee, 
Thou  Lamb  of  Calvary,"  etc., 

is  the  best.  Its  author,  Dr.  Ray  Palmer,  when  a 
young  man,  teaching  in  a  school  for  girls  in  New 
York,  one  day  sat  down  in  his  room  and  wrote  in 
his  pocket  memorandum  book  the  four  verses  which 
he  told  me  "were  born  of  my  own  soul,"  and  put 
the  memorandum  book  back  into  his  vest  pocket 
and  for  two  years  carried  the  verses  there,  little 
dreaming  that  he  was  carrying  his  own  passport  to 
immortality.  Dr.  Lowell  Mason,  the  celebrated 


44         RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   LONG  LIFE. 

composer  of  Boston,  asked  him  to  furnish  a  new 
hymn  for  his  next  volume  of  "Spiritual  Songs"  for 
social  worship,  and  young  Palmer  drew  out  the 
four  verses  from  his  pocket.  Mason  composed  for 
them  the  noble  tune,  "Olivet,"  and  to  that  air  they 
were  wedded  for  ever  more.  He  met  Palmer  after- 
wards, and  said  to  him :  "Sir,  you  may  live  many 
years,  and  do  many  things,  but  you  will  be  best 
known  to  posterity  as  the  author  of  'My  faith  looks 
up  to  Thee.'  "  The  prediction  proved  true.  His  de- 
voted heart  flowed  out  in  that  one  matchless  lily  that 
has  filled  so  many  hearts  and  sanctuaries  with  its 
rich  fragrance.  Dr.  Palmer  preached  several  times 
in  my  Brooklyn  pulpit.  He  was  once  with  us  on  a 
sacramental  Sabbath.  While  the  deacons  were  pass- 
ing the  sacred  elements  among  the  congregation 
the  dear  old  man  broke  out  in  a  tremulous  voice  and 
sang  his  own  heavenly  lines: 

"My  faith  looks  up  to  Thee 
Thou  Lamb  of  Calvary, 
Saviour  Divine." 

It  was  like  listening  to  a  rehearsal  for  the  celestial 
choir,  and  the  whole  assembly  was  most  deeply 
moved.  Dr.  Palmer  was  short  in  stature,  but  his 
erect  form  and  habit  of  brushing  his  hair  high 
over  his  forehead  gave  him  a  commanding  look. 
He  was  the  impersonation  of  genuine  enthusiasm. 
Some  of  his  letters  I  shall  always  prize.  They  were 


HYMN-WRITERS  I  HAVE  KNOWN.  45 

the  outpourings  of  his  own  warm  heart  on  paper. 
He  fell  asleep  just  before  he  reached  a  round  four 
score,  and  of  our  many  hymn- writers  no  one  has 
yet  "taken  away  his  crown." 

It  is  quite  fitting  to  follow  this  sketch  of  one 
noble  veteran  with  a  brief  reminiscence  of  an 
equally  noble  one,  who  bore  the  name  of  an  Episco- 
palian, although  he  was  very  undenominational  in 
his  broad  sympathies.  Dr.  William  Augustus 
Muhlenberg  was  one  of  the  most  apostolic  men  I 
have  ever  known  in  appearance  and  spirit.  His 
gray  head  all  men  knew  in  New  York.  He  com- 
manded attention  everywhere  by  his  genial  face  and 
hearty  manner  of  speech.  I  used  to  meet  him  at 
the  anniversaries  of  the  Five  Points  House  of  In- 
dustry. Everybody  loved  him  at  first  sight.  All  the 
world  knows  he  was  the  founder  of  St.  Luke's  Hos- 
pital in  New  York,  and  the  extensive  institutions  of 
charity  at  St.  Johnsland,  on  Long  Island.  Of  his 
hymns  the  most  popular  is 

"I  would  not  live  alway,"  etc. 

It  was  first  written  as  an  impromptu  for  a  lady's 
album,  and  afterwards  amended  into  its  present 
form. 

In  his  later  years  he  regarded  the  tone  of  that 
hymn  as  too  lugubrious;  and  in  a  pleasant  note  to 
me  he  said :  "Paul's  'For  me  to  live  is  Christ'  is  far 
better  than  Job's  'I  would  not  live  alway.' "  My 


46        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

favorite  among  his  productions  is  the  one  on  Noah's 
Dove,  commencing,  "O  cease,  my  wandering  soul" ; 
but  the  man  was  greater  than  any  song  he  ever 
wrote.  As  he  was  a  bacfielor  he  lived  in  his  St. 
Luke's  Hospital;  and  once,  when  he  was  carrying 
a  tray  of  dishes  down  to  the  kitchen  and  some  one 
protested,  the  patriarch  replied:  "Why  not;  what 
am  I  but  a  waiter  here  in  the  Lord's  hotel  ?"  When 
very  near  his  end  the  Chaplain  of  the  hospital 
prayed  at  his  bedside  for  his  recovery.  "Let  us  have 
an  understanding  about  this,"  said  Muhlenberg. 
"You  are  asking  God  to  restore  me,  and  I  am  asking 
God  to  take  me  home.  There  must  not  be  any  con- 
tradiction in  our  prayers,  for  it  is  evident  that  He 
cannot  answer  them  both."  This  was  characteristic 
of  his  bluff  frankness,  as  well  as  of  his  heavenly- 
mindedness — he  "would  not  live  alway." 

In  July,  1881,  I  was  visiting  Stockholm,  and  was 
invited  to  go  on  an  excursion  to  the  University  of 
Upsala  with  Dr.  Samuel  F.  Smith.  I  had  never 
before  met  my  celebrated  countryman  about  whom 
his  Harvard  classmate,  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes, 
once  wrote: 

"And  there's  a  nice  youngster  of  excellent  pith — 
Fate  tried  to  conceal  him  by  naming  him  Smith; 
But  he  shouted  a  song  for  the  brave  and  the  free — 
Just  read  on  his  medal — 'My  Country— of  Thee.' " 

The   song  he  thus   shouted   was   written   for  the 


HYMN-WRITERS  I  HAVE  KNOWN.  47 

Fourth  of  July  celebration,  in  Park  Street  Church, 
Boston,  in  1832,  and  has  become  our  national  hymn. 
When  I  met  the  genial  old  man  in  Sweden,  and 
travelled  with  him  for  several  days,  he  was  on  his 
way  home  from  a  missionary  tour  in  India  and 
Burmah.  He  told  me  that  he  had  heard  the  Bur- 
mese and  Telugus  sing  in  their  native  tongue  his 
grand  missionary  hymn,  "The  Morning  Light  is 
Breaking."  He  was  a  native  Bostonian,  and  was 
born  a  few  days  before  Ray  Palmer.  He  was  a 
Baptist  pastor,  editor,  college  professor,  and  spent 
the  tranquil  summer  evening  of  his  life  at  Newton, 
Mass. ;  and  at  a  railway  station  in  Boston,  by  sudden 
heart  failure,  he  was  translated  to  his  heavenly 
home.  He  illustrated  his  own  sweet  evening  hymn, 
"Softly  Fades  the  Twilight  Ray." 

Among  the  elect-ladies  who  have  produced  great 
uplifting  hymns  that  "were  not  born  to  die"  was 
Mrs.  Elizabeth  Payson  Prentiss,  the  daughter  of 
the  saintly  Dr.  Edward  Payson,  of  Portland,  Maine. 
Her  prose  works  were  very  popular,  and  "Stepping 
Heavenward"  had  found  its  way  into  thousands  of 
hearts.  But  one  day  she — in  a  few  hours — won  her 
immortality  by  writing  a  hymn,  beginning  with 
the  lines, 

"More   love   to   Thee,   O    Christ, 
More  love  to  Thee." 

It  was  printed  on  a  fly-sheet,  for  a  few  friends. 


48        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

then  found  its  way  into  a  hymn-book,  edited  by  my 
well-beloved  friend,  Dr.  Edwin  F.  Hatfield,  and 
then  it  took  wing  and  flew  over  the  world  into  many 
foreign  languages.  I  often  met  Mrs.  Prentiss  at  the 
home  of  her  husband,  Dr.  George  L.  Prentiss,  an 
eminent  professor  in  the  Union  Theological  Sem- 
inary. She  was  a  very  bright-eyed  little  woman, 
with  a  keen  sense  of  humor,  who  cared  more  to 
shine  in  her  own  happy  household  than  in  a  wide 
circle  of  society.  Her  absolutely  perfect  hymn — for 
such  it  truly  is — was  born  of  her  own  deep  longings 
for  a  fuller  inflow  of  that  love  that  casteth  out  all 
fear.  This  has  been  the  genesis  of  all  the  soul-songs 
that  devout  disciples  of  our  Lord  chant  into  the  ears 
of  their  Master  in  their  hours  of  sweetest  and 
closest  fellowship.  Mrs.  Prentiss  has  put  a  new 
song  into  the  mouths  of  a  multitude  of  those  who 
are  "stepping  heavenward." 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  TEMPERANCE  REFORM   AND   MY  CO-WORKERS 

As  stated  in  the  first  chapter  of  this  book,  I  be- 
came a  teetotaler  when  I  was  a  child,  and  I  also 
stated  that  the  first  public  address  I  ever  delivered 
was  in  behalf  of  temperance.  When  I  made  my 
first  visit  to  Edinburgh  in  1842  I  learned  that  a 
temperance  society  of  that  city  was  about  to  go 
over  to  Glasgow  to  greet  the  celebrated  Father 
Theobald  Mathew,  who  was  making  his  first  visit 
to  Scotland.  I  joined  my  Edinburgh  friends,  and 
on  arriving  in  Glasgow  we  found  a  multitude  of 
over  fifty  thousand  people  assembled  on  the  green. 
In  an  open  barouche,  drawn  by  four  horses,  stood 
a  short,  stout  Irishman,  with  a  handsome,  benevo- 
lent countenance,  and  attired  in  a  long  black  coat 
with  a  silver  medal  hanging  upon  his  breast.  After 
the  procession,  headed  by  his  carriage,  had  forced 
its  way  through  the  densely  thronged  street,  it 
halted  in  a  small  open  square.  Father  Mathew  dis- 
mounted, and  began  to  administer  the  pledge  of 
abstinence  to  those  who  were  willing  to  receive  it. 
They  kneeled  on  the  ground  in  platoons ;  the  pledge 
was  read  aloud  to  them;  Father  Mathew  laid  his 

49  -•;-••. 


50        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

hands  upon  them  and  pronounced  a  benediction. 
From  the  necks  of  many  a  small  medal  attached  to  a 
cord  was  suspended.  In  this  rapid  manner  the 
pledge  was  administered  to  many  hundreds  of  per- 
sons within  an  hour,  and  fresh  crowds  continually 
came  forward. 

When  I  was  introduced  to  the  good  man  as  an 
American,  he  spoke  a  few  kind  words  and  gave  me 
an  "apostolic  kiss"  upon  my  cheek.  As  I  was  about 
to  make  the  first  public  speech  of  my  life,  I  suppose 
that  I  may  regard  that  act  of  the  great  Irish  apostle 
as  a  sort  of  ordination  to  the  ministry  of  preaching 
the  Gospel  of  total  abstinence.  The  administration 
of  the  pledge  was  followed  by  a  grand  meeting  of 
welcome  in  the  city  hall.  Father  Mathew  spoke 
with  modest  simplicity  and  deep  emotion,  attributing 
all  his  wonderful  success  to  the  direct  blessings  of 
God  upon  his  efforts  to  persuade  his  fellowmen  to 
throw  off  the  despotism  of  the  bottle.  After  deliv- 
ering my  maiden  speech  I  hastened  back  to  Edin- 
burgh with  the  deputation  from  "Auld  Reekie," 
and  I  never  saw  Father  Mathew  again.  He  was, 
unquestionably,  the  most  remarkable  temperance  re- 
former who  has  yet  appeared.  While  a  Catholic 
priest  in  Cork,  a  Quaker  friend,  Mr.  Martin,  who 
met  him  in  an  almshouse,  said  to  him,  "Father 
Theobald,  why  not  give  thyself  to  the  work  of 
saving  men  from  the  drink?"  Father  Mathew  im- 


DR.  CUYLER  AT  32. 

(When  Pastor  of  the  Market  St.  Church,  New  York.) 


THE  TEMPERANCE  REFORM.  51 

mediately  commenced  his  enterprise.  It  spread  over 
Ireland  like  wildfire.  It  is  computed  that  no  less 
than  five  millions  of  people  took  the  pledge  of  total 
abstinence  from  intoxicating  poisons  by  his  influ- 
ence. The  revolution  wrought  in  his  day,  in  his 
own  time  and  country,  was  marvellous,  and,  to  this 
day,  his  influence  is  perpetuated  in  the  vast  number 
of  Father  Mathew  Benevolent  Temperance  Societies. 
Second  only  to  Father  Mathew  in  the  number  of 
converts  which  he  has  made  to  total  abstinence  was 
that  brilliant  and  dramatic  platform  orator,  John  B. 
Gough.  When  he  was  a  reckless  young  sot  in 
Worcester,  Massachusetts,  he  had  owed  his  conver- 
sion to  a  touch  on  his  shoulder  by  a  shoemaker, 
named  Joel  Stratton,  who  had  invited  him  to  a 
Washingtonian  temperance  meeting.  Soon  after 
that  time  he  owed  his  conversion,  under  God,  to  the 
influence  of  Miss  Mary  Whitcomb,  the  daughter  of 
a  Boylston  farmer  in  the  neighborhood.  He 
formed  her  acquaintance  very  soon  after  he  signed 
the  temperance  pledge  in  Worcester,  and  she  con- 
sented to  assume  the  risk  of  becoming  his  wife.  In 
the  summer  of  1856  I  visited  my  beloved  friend 
Gough  at  his  beautiful  Boylston  home  to  aid  him 
in  revival  services,  which  he  was  conducting  in 
his  own  church,  then  without  a  pastor.  He  was 
Sunday-school  superintendent,  pastor  and  leader  of 
inquiry  meetings — all  in  himself.  One  evening  he 


52         RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

took  me  to  the  house  of  his  neighbor,  Captain  Flagg, 
and  said  to  me:  "Here,  in  this  house,  Mary  and  I 
did  our  brief  two  or  three  weeks  of  courting.  We 
didn't  talk  of  love,  but  only  religion  and  about  the 
welfare  of  my  soul.  We  prayed  together  every 
time  we  met ;  and  it  was  such  serious  business  that 
I  do  not  think  I  even  kissed  her  until  we  were  mar- 
ried. She  took  me  on  trust,  with  three  dollars  in 
my  pocket,  and  has  been  to  me  the  best  wife  God 
ever  made."  When  they  went  to  Boston,  Dr.  Ed- 
ward N.  Kirk  received  Mr.  Gough  into  the  Mt. 
Vernon  Street  Church,  just  as  many  years  after- 
wards he  received  Mr.  Moody  to  the  same  com- 
munion table. 

Of  Mr.  Cough's  extraordinary  platform  powers  I 
need  not  speak  while  there  are  so  many  now  living 
that  sat  under  the  enchantment  of  his  eloquence. 
A  man  who  could  crowd  an  opera  house  in  London 
to  listen  to  so  unpopular  a  theme  as  temperance 
while  a  score  or  more  of  coroneted  carriages  were 
waiting  about  the  door  must  have  been  no  ordinary 
master  of  oratory.  As  an  actor  he  might  have  been 
a  second  Garrick;  as  a  preacher  of  the  Gospel  he 
would  have  been  a  second  Whitefield.  My  house 
was  his  home  when  visiting  our  city  for  many  years, 
and  he  used  to  tell  me  that  my  letters  to  him  were 
carried  in  his  breast  pocket  until  they  were  worn  to 
fragments.  His  last  speech,  delivered  in  Philadel- 


THE  TEMPERANCE  REFORM.  53 

phia,  displayed  much  of  his  early  power,  and  the 
last  sentence,  "Young  man,  keep  a  clean  record," 
rung  out  as  he  fell  stricken  with  apoplexy,  and  the 
eloquent  voice  was  silent  forever.  God's  messen- 
ger met  him  where  every  true  warrior  may  well  de- 
sire to  be  met — in  the  heat  of  the  battle,  and  with 
the  harness  on. 

My  acquaintance  with  Neal  Dow  began  in  the 
early  winter  of  1852.  He  had  been  chosen  Mayor 
of  Portland  in  the  spring  of  the  year,  and  then  he 
struck  the  bold  stroke  which  was  "heard  round  the 
world"  and  made  him  famous  as  the  father  of  Pro- 
hibition. He  had  drafted  a  bill  for  the  suppression 
of  tippling  houses  and  placed  in  it  a  claim  of  the 
right  of  the  civil  authorities  to  search  all  premises 
where  it  was  suspected  that  intoxicating  liquors 
were  kept  for  sale,  and  to  seize  and  confiscate  them 
on  the  spot.  It  was  this  sharp  scimitar  of  search 
and  seizure  which  gave  the  original  Maine  law  its 
deadly  power.  He  took  his  bill  to  the  seat  of  gov- 
ernment and  it  was  promptly  passed  by  the  legisla- 
ture. He  brought  it  home  in  triumph,  and  in  less 
than  three  months  there  was  not  an  open  dram 
shop  or  distillery  in  Portland!  He  invited  me  to 
visit  him,  and  drove  me  over  the  city,  whose  pure 
air  was  not  polluted  with  the  faintest  smell  of 
alcohol.  It  seemed  like  the  first  whiff  of  a  temper- 
ance millennium.  An  invitation  was  extended  to 


54        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

him  to  a  magnificent  public  meeting  in  Triplet  Hall, 
New  York.  At  that  meeting  a  large  array  of  dis- 
tinguished speakers,  including  General  Houston,  of 
Texas ;  the  Hon.  Horace  Mann,  of  Massachusetts ; 
Henry  Ward  Beecher,  Dr.  Chapin  and  several  other 
celebrities,  appeared.  On  that  evening  I  delivered 
my  first  public  address  in  New  York,  and  have  been 
told  that  it  was  the  occasion  of  my  call  to  be  a 
pastor  in  that  city  two  years  afterwards.  A  gold 
medal  was  presented  to  Neal  Dow  that  evening. 
He  went  home  with  me  to  Trenton,  and  from  that 
time  our  intimacy  was  so  great  and  our  correspond- 
ence so  constant  that  if  I  had  preserved  all  his 
letters  they  would  make  a  history  of  the  prohibition 
movement  from  1851  to  1857,  the  years  of  its 
widest  successes.  With  him  I  addressed  the  legisla- 
ture of  New  York,  who  passed  a  law  of  prohibition 
very  soon  afterwards.  A  forceful,  magnetic  man 
was  General  Dow,  thoroughly  honest  and  cour- 
ageous, with  a  womanly  tenderness  in  his  sym- 
pathies. I  have  been  permited  to  know  intimately 
many  of  the  leaders  in  great  moral  reforms  on  both 
sides  of  the  ocean ;  but  a  braver,  sounder  heart  was 
not  to  be  found  than  that  which  throbbed  in  the 
breast  of  Neal  Dow. 

On  his  ninetieth  birthday  the  hale  veteran  sent 
my  wife  his  photograph.  She  placed  his  white  locks 
alongside  of  the  photograph  which  Gladstone  gave 


THE  TEMPERANCE  REFORM.  55 

her,  and  she  calls  them  her  duet  of  grand  old  men. 
The  closing  years  of  General  Dow's  life,  like  the 
closing  years  of  Martin  Luther,  were  clouded  with 
anxiety.  He  saw  the  great  movement  which  he 
had  championed  checked  by  many  difficulties  and 
suffering  some  disastrous  reverses.  Some  States 
which  had  enacted  total  prohibition  forty  years  be- 
fore had  repealed  the  law.  In  the  five  States  which 
retained  it  on  their  statute  books  its  salutary  en- 
forcement was  dependent  on  the  moral  sentiments 
in  the  various  localities.  In  his  own,  beloved 
Maine,  his  own  beloved  law  had  been  trampled 
down  in  some  places;  in  others  made  the  football 
of  designing  politicians.  These  reverses  saddened 
the  old  hero's  heart,  and  he  sent  to  the  public  meet- 
ing in  Portland  which  celebrated  his  ninety-third 
birthday  this  message:  "That  the  purpose  of  my 
life  work  will  be  fully  accomplished  at  some  time 
I  do  not  doubt,  and  my  hope  and  expectation  is  that 
the  obstacles  which  now  obstruct  us  will  not  long 
block  the  way."  The  name  of  Neal  Dow  will  be 
always  memorable  as  one  of  the  truest,  bravest  and 
purest  philanthropists  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

The  most  important  organization  for  the  promo- 
tion of  temperance  in  our  country  is  the  National 
Temperance  Society  and  Publication  House,  which 
was  founded  in  1865.  I  prepared  its  constitution, 
and  the  committee  which  organized  it  met  in  the 


56        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

counting  room  of  that  eminent  Christian  merchant, 
the  late  Hon.  William  E.  Dodge.  I  once  introduced 
him  to  the  Earl  of  Shaftesbury  at  a  Lord  Mayor's 
reception  in  London  in  these  words :  "My  lord,  let 
me  introduce  you  to  William  E.  Dodge,  the  Shaftes- 
bury of  America."  To  this  day  he  is  remembered 
as  an  ideal  Christian  merchant  and  philanthropist. 
With  him  conscience  ruled  everything,  and  God 
ruled  conscience.  He  was  one  of  the  founders  of  a 
great  railway  and  cut  the  first  sod  for  its  construc- 
tion. Long  afterwards  the  Board  of  Directors  of 
the  road  proposed  to  drive  their  trains  and  traffic 
through  the  Lord's  day.  Mr.  Dodge  said  to  his 
fellow  directors:  "Then,  gentlemen,  put  a  flag  on 
every  locomotive  with  these  words  inscribed  on  it, 
'We  break  God's  law  for  a  dividend.'  As  for  me,  I 
go  out."  He  did  go  out,  and  disposed  of  his  stock. 
Within  a  few  years  the  road  went  into  the  hands  of 
a  receiver,  and  the  stock  sank  to  thirty  cents  on  the 
dollar. 

During  the  Civil  War,  General  Dix  and  his  mili- 
tary staff  gave  Mr.  Dodge  a  complimentary  dinner 
at  Fortress  Monroe.  General  Dix  rapped  on  the 
table  and  said  to  his  brother  officers :  "Gentlemen, 
you  are  aware  that  our  honored  guest  is  a  water- 
drinker.  I  propose  that  to-day  we  join  him  in  his 
favorite  beverage."  Forthwith  every  wine-glass 
was  turned  upside  down  as  a  silent  tribute  to  the 


THE  TEMPERANCE  REFORM.  57 

Christian  conscience  of  their  guest.  When  the 
whole  Christian  community  of  America  shall  imitate 
the  wise  example  of  that  great  philanthropist  it  will 
exert  a  tremendous  influence  for  the  banishment  of 
all  intoxicants  from  the  public  and  private  hospitali- 
ties of  society.  Mr.  Dodge  was  elected  the  first 
president  of  the  National  Temperance  Society,  and 
served  it  for  eighteen  years  and  bestowed  upon  it 
his  liberal  donations.  He  closed  his  useful  and 
beneficent  life  in  February,  1883,  and  he  was  suc- 
ceeded in  the  presidency  of  the  Society  by  Dr.  Mark 
Hopkins  of  Williams  College,  by  the  writer  of  this 
book,  by  General  O.  O.  Howard  and  by  Joshua  L. 
Baily,  who  is  at  present  the  head  of  the  organiza- 
tion. The  society  has  done  a  vast  and  benevolent 
work,  receiving  and  expending  a  million  and  a  half 
dollars,  publishing  many  hundreds  of  valuable  vol- 
umes, and  widely  circulated  tracts. 

The  limits  of  this  chapter  will  not  allow  me  to 
pay  my  tribute  to  the  venerable  Dr.  Charles  Jewett, 
Dr.  Cheever,  Albert  Barnes,  Dr.  Tyng  and  the  great 
Christian  statesman,  Theodore  Frelinghuysen,  Miss 
Frances  Willard,  Lady  Henry  Somerset,  Joseph 
Cook  and  many  others  who  have  been  prominent 
in  the  promotion  of  this  great  Christian  reform.  It 
has  been  my  privilege  to  labor  for  it  through  my 
whole  public  life.  I  have  prepared  thirty  or  forty 
tracts,  written  a  great  number  of  articles  and  de- 


58        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

livcred  hundreds  of  addresses  in  behalf  of  it,  and 
preached  many  a  discourse  from  my  own  pulpit. 
I  have  always  held  that  every  church  is  as  much 
bound  to  have  a  temperance  wheel  in  its  machinery 
as  to  have  a  Sabbath  school  or  a  missionary  or- 
ganization. It  is  of  vital  importance  that  the  young 
should  be  saved,  and  therefore  I  have  urged  tem- 
perance lessons  in  the  Sunday  school  and  the  early 
adoption  of  a  total  abstinence  pledge.  The  temper- 
ance reform  movement  made  its  greatest  progress 
when  churches  and  Sunday  schools  laid  hold  of  it 
and  when  the  total  abstinence  pledge  was  widely 
and  wisely  used.  The  social  drink  customs  are 
coming  back  again  and  a  fresh  education  of  the 
American  people  as  to  the  deadly  drink  evil  is  the 
necessity  of  the  hour,  and  that  must  be  given  in  the 
home,  in  the  schools  and  from  the  pulpit  and  from 
the  public  press.  I  have  become  convinced  from 
long  labor  in  this  reform  that  the  ordinary  license 
system  is  only  a  poultice  to  the  dram  seller's  con- 
science, and  for  restraining  intemperance  it  is  a 
ghastly  failure.  Institutions  and  patent  medicines 
to  cure  drinkers  have  only  had  a  partial  success. 
The  only  sure  cure  for  drunkenness  is  to  stop  be- 
fore you  begin.  Entire  legal  suppression  of  the 
dram  shop  is  successful  where  a  stiff,  righteous, 
public  sentiment  thoroughly  enforces  it.  Otherwise 
it  may  become  a  delusion  and  a  farce. 


THE  TEMPERANCE  REFORM.  59 

The  best  method  of  prohibition  is  what  is  known 
as  "local  option,"  where  the  question  is  submitted 
to  each  community,  whether  the  liquor  traffic  shall 
be  legalized  or  suppressed  by  public  authority.  Of 
late  years  friends  of  our  cause  have  fallen  into  the 
sad  mistake  of  directing  their  main  assaults  upon 
liquor  selling  instead  of  keeping  up  also  their  fire 
upon  the  use  of  intoxicants.  Legal  enactments  are 
right ;  but  to  atempt  to  dam  up  a  torrent  and  neglect 
the  fountain-head  is  surely  insanity.  The  fountain-- 
head of  drunkenness  is  the  drinking  usages  which 
create  and  sustain  the  saloons,  which  are  often  the 
doorways  to  hell.  In  theory  I  always  have  been, 
and  am  to-day,  a  legal  suppressionist ;  but  the  most 
vital  remedy  of  all  is  to  break  up  the  demand  for 
intoxicants,  and  to  persuade  people  from  wishing  to 
buy  and  drink  them.  That  goes  to  the  root  of  the 
evil.  In  endeavoring  to  remove  the  saloon,  it  is 
the  duty  of  all  philanthropists  to  do  their  utmost 
to  provide  safe  places  of  resort — as  the  Holly- 
Tree  Inns  and  other  temperance  coffee  houses — 
for  the  working  people.  And  another  beneficent 
plan  is  for  corporations  and  employers  to  make 
abstinence  from  drink  an  essential  to  employment. 
My  generous  friend,  Mr.  Andrew  Carnegie,  when 
he  recently  gave  a  liberal  donation  to  our 
National  Temperance  Society,  said  to  me:  "The 
best  temperance  lecture  I  have  delivered  was  when 


60        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE, 

I  agreed  to  pay  ten  per  cent,  premium  to  all  the 
employees  on  my  Scottish  estates  who  would  prac- 
tice entire  abstinence  from  intoxicants."  The  ex- 
perience of  threescore  years  has  taught  me  the 
inestimable  value  of  total  abstinence;  the  benefit 
of  the  righteous  law  when  it  is  well  enforced, 
and  also  that  the  church  of  Christ  has  no  more 
right  to  ignore  the  drink  evil  than  it  has  to  ignore 
theft,  or  Sabbath  desecration,  or  murder.  Let  me 
add  also  my  grateful  acknowledgment  of  the  very 
effective  and  Heaven-blessed  work  wrought  by  that 
noble  organization,  the  Woman's  Christian  Tem- 
perance Union.  As  woman  has  been  the  sorest 
sufferer  from  the  drink-curse,  it  is  her  province 
and  her  duty  to  do  her  utmost  for  its  removal. 


CHAPTER  VI 

MY   WORK   IN    THE  PULPIT 

DURING  the  first  eighteen  months  after  I  grad- 
uated from  Princeton  College  I  was  balancing 
between  the  law  and  the  ministry.  Many  of  my 
relatives  urged  me  to  become  a  lawyer,  as  my  father 
and  grandfather  had  been,  but  my  godly  mother 
had  dedicated  me  to  the  ministry  from  infancy, 
and  her  influence  all  went  in  the  same  line  with 
her  prayers.  With  the  exception  of  my  venerated 
and  beloved  kinsman,  Dr.  Cornelius  C.  Cuyler, 
Pastor  of  the  Second  Presbyterian  Church  of  Phila- 
delphia, who  died  in  1850,  no  other  man  of  my  name 
has  stood  in  an  American  pulpit.  During  the  winter 
of  my  return  from  Europe  to  my  home  on  the 
Cayuga  Lake,  one  of  my  uncles  invited  me  to  go 
down  and  attend  an  afternoon  prayer  service  in  the 
neighboring  village  of  Ludlowville.  There  was  a 
spiritual  awakening  in  the  church,  and  the  meeting 
was  held  in  the  parlor  of  a  private  house.  I  arose 
and  spoke  for  ten  minutes.  When  the  meeting  was 
over,  more  than  one  came  to  me  and  said:  "Your 

talk  did  me  good."    On  my  way  home,  as  I  drove 

61 


62        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

along  in  my  sleigh,  the  thought  flashed  into  my 
mind,  "If  ten  minutes'  talk  to-day  helped  a  few 
souls,  why  not  preach  all  the  time?"  That  one 
thought  decided  the  vexed  question  on  the  spot. 
Our  lives  turn  on  small  pivots,  and  if  we  let  God 
lead  us,  the  path  will  open  before  our  footsteps.  I 
reached  home  that  day,  and  informed  my  good 
mother  of  my  decision.  She  had  always  expected 
it  and  quietly  remarked,  "Then,  I  have  already 
spoken  to  Mr.  Ford  for  his  room  for  you  in  the 
Princeton  Seminary."  My  three  years  in  the  Semi- 
nary were  full  of  joy  and  profit.  I  made  it  a  rule 
to  go  out  as  often  as  possible  and  address  little  meet- 
ings in  the  neighboring  school-houses,  and  found 
this  a  very  beneficial  method  of  gaining  practice. 
A  young  preacher  must  get  accustomed  to  the  sound 
of  his  own  voice;  if  naturally  timid,  he  must  learn 
to  face  an  audience  and  must  first  learn  to  speak; 
afterwards  he  may  learn  to  speak  well.  It  is  a  wise 
thing  for  a  young  man  to  begin  his  labors  in  a 
small  congregation;  he  has  more  time  for  study,  a 
better  chance  to  become  intimately  acquainted  with 
individual  characters,  and  also  a  smaller  audience  to 
face.  The  first  congregation  that  I  was  called  to 
take  charge  of,  in  Burlington,  N.  J.,  contained  about 
forty  families.  Three  or  four  of  these  were  wealthy 
and  cultivated,  the  rest  were  plain  mechanics,  with 
a  few  gardeners  and  coachmen.  I  made  my  ser- 


MY  WORK  IN  THE  PULPIT.  63 

mons  to  suit  the  comprehension  of  the  gardeners 
and  coachmen  at  the  end  of  the  house,  leaving  the 
cultivated  portion  to  gain  what  they  could  from 
the  sermon  on  its  way.  One  of  the  wealthy  atten- 
dants was  Mr.  Charles  Chauncey,  a  distinguished 
Philadelphia  lawyer,  who  spent  the  summer  months 
in  Burlington.  Once  after  I  had  delivered  a  very 
simple  and  earnest  sermon  on  the  "Worth  of  the 
Soul,"  I  went  home  and  said  to  myself,  "Lawyer 
Chauncey  must  have  thought  that  was  only  a  camp- 
meeting  exhortation."  He  met  me  during  the 
week  and  to  my  astonishment  he  said  to  me:  "My 
young  friend,  I  thank  you  for  that  sermon  last 
Sunday ;  it  had  the  two  best  qualities  of  preaching — 
simplicity  and  down-right  earnestness.  If  I  had 
a  student  in  my  law-office  who  was  not  more  in 
earnest  to  win  his  first  ten  dollar  suit  before  a 
Justice  of  the  Peace  than  some  men  seem  to  be 
in  trying  to  save  souls  I  would  kick  such  a  student 
out  of  my  office."  That  eminent  lawyer's  remark 
did  me  more  service  than  any  month's  study  in  the 
Seminary.  It  taught  me  that  cultivated  audiences 
relished  plain,  simple  scriptural  truths  as  much  as 
did  the  illiterate,  and  that  down-right  earnestness 
to  save  souls  hides  a  multitude  of  sins  in  raw  young 
preachers. 

Another  instance  that  occurred  in  my  early  min- 
istry did  me  a  world  of  good.     I  was  invited  to 


64        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

preach  in  the  Presbyterian  Church  at  Saratoga 
Springs  about  two  years  after  I  was  licensed.  My 
topics  were  "Trusting  Jesus  Christ"  in  the  morning 
and  "The  Day  of  Judgment"  at  the  evening  service. 
The  next  day,  when  I  was  buying  my  ticket  at  the 
railway  station  to  leave  the  town,  a  plain  man 
(who  was  a  baker  in  the  village)  said  to  me:  "Are 
you  not  the  young  man  who  spoke  yesterday  in 
our  meeting-house  ?"  I  told  him  that  I  was.  "Well," 
said  he,  "I  never  felt  more  sorry  for  any  one  in  my 
life."  "Why  so?"  I  asked.  His  answer  was:  "I 
said  to  myself,  there  is  a  youth  just  out  of  the 
Seminary,  and  he  does  not  know  that  a  Saratoga 
audience  is  made  up  of  highly  educated  people 
from  all  parts  of  the  land ;  but  I  have  noticed 
that  if  a  minister,  during  his  first  ten  minutes,  can 
convince  the  people  that  he  is  only  trying  to  save 
their  souls  he  kills  all  the  critics  in  the  house."  I 
have  never  ceased  to  thank  God  for  the  remark 
of  that  shrewd  Saratoga  baker,  who,  I  was  told,  had 
come  there  from  New  Haven,  Connecticut,  and 
was  a  man  of  remarkable  sagacity.  That  was  one 
of  the  profoundest  bits  of  sound  philosophy  on  the 
art  of  preaching  that  I  have  ever  encountered,  and 
I  have  quoted  it  in  every  Theological  Seminary 
that  I  have  ever  addressed.  If  we  ministers  pour 
the  living  truths  of  the  Gospel  red-hot  into  the 
ears  and  consciences  of  our  audiences,  they  will 


MY  WORK  IN  THE  PULPIT.  65 

have  enough  to  do  to  look  out  for  themselves  and 
will  have  no  time  to  level  criticisms  at  us  or  our 
mode  of  preaching.  Cowards,  also,  are  never  more 
pitiable  than  when  in  the  pulpit. 

I  will  not  enter  here  into  the  endless  controversy 
about  the  comparative  merits  of  written  or  ex- 
temporized sermons.  My  own  observation  and  ex- 
perience has  been  that  no  rule  is  the  best  rule. 
Every  man  must  find  out  by  practice  which  method 
he  can  use  to  the  best  advantage  and  then  pursue 
it.  No  man  ever  fails  who  understands  his  forte, 
and  no  man  succeeds  who  does  not.  Some  men 
cannot  extemporize  effectively  if  they  try  ever  so 
hard;  there  are  others  who,  like  Gladstone,  can 
think  best  when  they  are  on  their  legs  and  are 
inspired  by  an  audience.  During  the  first  few 
years  of  my  ministry  I  wrote  out  nearly  all  of 
my  sermons.  The  advantage  of  doing  that  is  that 
it  enables  a  young  beginner  to  form  his  own  style 
at  the  outset  by  careful  and  systematic  writing. 
Spurgeon,  often  when  a  youth,  read  some  of  his 
sermons,  although  afterwards  he  never  premedi- 
tated a  single  sentence  for  the  pulpit.  Dr.  Richard 
S.  Storrs  was  a  most  fluent  extemporaneous  speaker, 
but  for  twenty  years  he  carefully  wrote  all  his 
discourses.  My  own  habit,  after  a  time,  was  to 
write  a  portion  of  the  sermon  and  turn  away  from 
my  notes  to  interject  thoughts  that  came  in  the  heat 


66        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

of  the  moment  and  then  turn  to  my  manuscript. 
This  was  generally  the  habit  of  Henry  Ward 
Beecher.  After  thirty  years  in  the  ministry  I  dis- 
carded writing  sermons  entirely  and  adopted  the 
plan  of  preparing  a  few  "heads"  on  a  bit  of  note- 
paper,  and  tacking  it  into  a  Bagster's  Bible.  Dr. 
John  Hall  wrote  carefully,  leaving  his  manuscript 
at  home;  and  so  does  Dr.  Alexander  McLaren,  of 
Manchester,  who  is  to-day  by  far  the  most  superb 
sermonizer  in  Great  Britain.  The  eloquent  Guthrie, 
of  Scotland,  committed  his  discourses  to  memory, 
and  delivered  them  in  a  torrent  of  Godly  emotion. 

In  preparing  my  sermons  my  custom  was,  after 
taking  some  rest  on  Monday,  to  get  into  my  study 
early  on  Tuesday  morning.  To  every  student  the 
best  hours  of  the  day  are  those  before  the  sun  has 
reached  the  meridian.  Then  the  mind  is  the  most 
clear  and  vigorous.  I  have  never  in  my  life  pre- 
pared sermons  a  dozen  times  after  my  supper. 
Severe  mental  work  in  the  evening  is  apt  to  destroy 
sound  sleep;  thousands  of  brain  workers  are 
wrecked  by  insomnia.  To  secure  freedom  from 
needless  interruption  I  pinned  on  my  study  door 
"Very  Busy."  This  had  the  wholesome  effect  of 
shutting  out  all  time-killers,  and  of  shortening 
necessary  calls  of  those  who  had  some  important 
errand.  Instead  of  leaving  the  selection  of  my 
topic  to  the  risk  of  any  contingency,  I  usually  chose 


MY  WORK  IN  THE  PULPIT.  67 

my  text  on  Tuesday  morning,  and  laid  the  keel 
of  the  sermon.  I  kept  a  large  note-book  in  which 
I  could  enter  any  passage  of  Scripture  that  would 
furnish  a  good  theme  for  pulpit  consumption.  I 
also  found  it  a  good  practice  to  jot  down  thoughts 
that  occurred  to  me  on  any  important  topic  that 
I  could  use  when  I  came  to  prepare  my  sermons. 
By  this  method  I  had  a  treasury  of  texts  from 
which  I  could  draw  every  week.  Let  my  readers 
be  careful  to  notice  that  word  "Text."  I  have 
known  men  to  prepare  an  elaborate  essay,  theolog- 
ical, ethical  or  sociological,  and  then  to  perch  a 
text  from  the  Bible  on  top  of  it. 

"Preach  my  word"  does  not  signify  the  clapping 
of  a  few  syllables  as  a  figure-head  on  a  long  treatise 
spun  out  of  a  preacher's  brain.  The  best  discourses 
are  not  manufactured;  they  are  a  growth.  God's 
inspired  and  infallible  Book  must  furnish  the  text. 
The  connection  between  every  good  sermon  and  its 
text  is  just  as  vital  as  the  connection  between  a 
peach-tree  and  its  root.  Sometimes  an  indolent  min- 
ister tries  to  palm  off  an  old  sermon  for  a  pretended 
new  one  by  changing  the  text,  but  this  shallow  de- 
vice ought  to  expose  itself  as  if  he  should  decapitate 
a  dog  and  undertake  to  clap  on  the  head  of  some 
other  animal.  Intelligent  audiences  see  through  such 
tricks  and  despise  them.  "Be  sure  your  sin  will  find 
you  out."  When  a  passage  from  the  Holy  Scripture 


68        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

has  been  planted  as  a  root  and  well  watered  with 
prayer,  the  sermon  should  spring  naturally  from  it. 
The  central  thought  of  the  text  being  the  central 
thought  of  the  sermon  and  all  argument,  all  in- 
struction and  exhortation  are  only  the  boughs 
branching  off  from  the  central  trunk,  giving  unity, 
vigor  and  spiritual  beauty  to  the  whole  organic 
production.  The  unity  and  spiritual  power  of  a 
discourse  usually  depend  upon  the  adherence  to 
the  great  divine  truth  contained  in  the  inspired 
Book.  The  Bible  text  is  God's  part  of  our  sermon ; 
and  the  more  thoroughly  we  get  the  text  into  our 
own  souls,  the  more  will  we  get  it  into  the  sermon, 
and  into  the  consciences  of  our  hearers.  To  keep 
out  of  a  rut  I  studied  the  infinite  variety  of  Sacred 
Scripture;  its  narratives  and  matchless  biographies, 
its  jubilant  Psalms,  its  profound  doctrines,  its  tender 
pathos,  its  rolling  thunder  of  Sinai,  and  its  sweet 
melodies  of  Calvary's  redeeming  love.  I  laid  hold 
of  the  great  themes,  and  I  found  a  half  hour  of 
earnest  prayer  was  more  helpful  than  two  or  three 
hours  of  study.  It  sometimes  let  a  flash  from  the 
Throne  flame  over  the  page  I  was  writing. 

To  me,  when  preparing  my  Sabbath  messages, 
God's  Holy  Word  was  the  sum  of  all  knowledge, 
and  a  "Thus  saith  the  Lord"  was  my  invariable 
guide.  I  found  that  in  theology  the  true  things 
were  not  new,  and  most  of  the  new  things  were  not 


MY  WORK  IN  THE  PULPIT.  69 

true.  I  remember  how  a  visitor  in  New  Haven 
was  looking  for  a  certain  house,  and  found  himself 
in  front  of  the  residence  of  Professor  Olmstead, 
the  eminent  astronomer,  whose  stoves  were  then 
very  popular.  The  visitor  inquired  of  an  Irishman, 
who  was  working  in  front  of  the  house,  "Who 
lives  here  ? "  The  very  Hibernian  answer  was, 
"Shure,  sur,  'tis  Profissor  Olmstead,  a  very  great 
man;  he  invents  comets,  and  has  discovered  a  new 
stove."  In  searching  the  Scriptures  I  used  the  very 
best  spiritual  telescopes  in  my  possession,  and  gladly 
availed  myself  of  all  discoveries  of  divine  truths 
made  by  profounder  intellects  and  keener  visions 
than  my  own ;  but  I  leave  this  self-styled  "advanced 
age"  to  invent  its  own  comets,  and  follow  its  own 
meteors. 

In  one  respect  I  have  not  followed  the  practice 
of  many  of  my  brethren,  for  I  never  have  wasted 
a  single  moment  in  defending  God's  Word  in  my 
pulpit.  I  have  always  held  that  the  Bible  is  a  self- 
evidencing  book;  God  will  take  care  of  His  Word 
if  we  ministers  only  take  care  to  preach  it.  We 
are  no  more  called  upon  to  defend  the  Bible  than 
we  are  to  defend  the  law  of  gravitation.  My  be- 
loved friend,  Dr.  McLaren,  of  Manchester,  has 
well  said  that  if  ministers,  "instead  of  trying  to 
prop  the  Cross  of  Christ,  would  simply  point  men 
to  that  Cross,  more  souls  would  be  saved."  The 


70        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

vast  proportion  of  volumes  of  "Apologetics"  are 
a  waste  of  ink  and  paper.  If  they  could  all  be 
kindled  into  a  huge  bonfire,  they  would  shed  more 
light  than  they  ever  did  before.  It  is  not  our  busi- 
ness to  answer  every  sceptic  who  shies  a  stone 
at  the  solid  fortress  of  truth  in  which  God  places 
His  ambassadors.  If  Tobiah  and  Sanballat  are 
challenging  us  to  come  down  into  the  plain,  and 
meet  them  on  their  level,  our  answer  must  ever  be : 
"I  am  God's  messenger,  preaching  God's  word  and 
doing  God's  work.  I  cannot  stop  to  go  down  and 
prove  that  your  swords  are  made  of  lath." 

To  my  younger  brethren  I  would  say:  "Preach 
the  Word,  preach  it  with  all  your  soul,  preach  it 
in  the  strength  of  Jehovah's  Spirit,  and  He  will 
give  it  the  victory." 

I  found  the  effectiveness  of  my  sermons  increased 
by  the  use  of  every  good  illustration  I  could  get 
hold  of,  but  I  tried  to  be  careful  that  they  illus- 
trated something.  Where  such  are  lugged  into  the 
sermon  merely  for  the  sake  of  ornament,  they  are 
as  much  out  of  place  as  a  bouquet  would  be  tied 
fast  to  a  plough-handle.  The  Divine  Teacher  set 
us  the  example  of  making  vital  truths  intelligible 
by  illustrations,  when  he  spoke  so  often  in  parables, 
and  sometimes  recalled  historical  incidents.  All  con- 
gregations relish  incidents  and  stories,  when  they 
are  "pat"  to  the  purpose,  and  serious  enough  for 


MY  WORK  IN  THE  PULPIT.  71 

God's  house,  and  help  to  drive  the  truth  into  the 
hearts  of  the  audience.     During  my  early  ministry 
I  delivered  a  discourse  to  young  men  at  Saratoga 
Springs,  and  closed  it  with  a  solemn  story  of  a 
man  who  died  of  remorse  at  the  exposure  of  his 
crime.     The  Hon.  John  McLean,  a  judge  of  the 
United    States    Supreme    Court   and   a   prominent 
man  in  the  Methodist  Church,  was  in  the  congre- 
gation, and  the  next  day  I  called  at  the  United 
States  Hotel  to  pay  my  respects  to  him.     He  said 
to  me,  "My  young  friend  I  was  very  much  inter- 
ested in  that  story  last  evening;   it  clinched  the 
sermon.     Our  ministers  in  Cincinnati  used  to  in- 
troduce illustrative  anecdotes,  but  it  seems  to  have 
gone  out  of  fashion  and  I  am  sorry  for  it."     I 
replied  to  him,  "Well  Judge,  I  am  glad  to  have  the 
decision  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States 
in  favor  of  telling  a  story  or  a  personal  incident  in 
the  pulpit."    There  is  one  principle  that  covers  all 
cases.     It  is  this:  Whatever  makes  the  Gospel  or 
Jesus  Christ  more  clear  to  the  understanding,  more 
effective  in  arousing  sinners,  in  converting  souls, 
in  edifying  believers  and  in  promoting  pure  honest 
living  is  never  out  of  place  in  the  pulpit.     When 
we  are  preaching  for  souls  we  may  use  any  and 
every  weapon  of  truth  within  our  reach. 

Those  who  have  sat  before  my  pulpit  will  testify 
that  I  never  spared  my  lungs  or  their  ears  in  the 


72        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

delivery  of  my  discourses.  The  preaching  of  the 
Gospel  is  spiritual  gunnery,  and  many  a  well-loaded 
cartridge  has  failed  to  reach  its  mark  from  lack  of 
powder  to  propel  it.  The  prime  duty  of  God's 
ambassador  is  to  arouse  the  attention  of  souls  be- 
fore his  pulpit;  to  stir  those  who  are  indifferent; 
to  awaken  those  who  are  impenitent;  to  cheer  the 
sorrow-stricken;  to  strengthen  the  weak,  and  edify 
believers.  An  advocate  in  a  criminal  trial  puts 
his  grip  on  every  juryman's  ear.  So  must  every 
herald  of  Gospel-truth  demand  and  command  a 
hearing,  cost  what  it  may;  but  that  hearing  he 
never  will  secure  while  he  addresses  an  audience 
in  a  cold,  formal,  perfunctory  manner.  Certainly 
the  great  apostle  at  Ephesus  aimed  at  the  emotions 
and  the  conscience  as  well  as  the  reason  of  his 
hearers  when  he  "ceased  not  to  warn  them  night 
and  day  with  tears."  I  cannot  impress  it  too 
strongly  on  every  young  minister  that  the  delivery 
of  his  sermon  is  half  the  battle.  Why  load  your  gun 
at  all  if  you  cannot  send  your  charge  to  the  mark? 
Many  a  discourse  containing  much  valuable  thought 
has  fallen  dead  on  drowsy  ears  when  it  might  have 
produced  great  effect  if  the  preacher  had  only  had 
inspiration  and  perspiration.  A  sermon  that  is  but 
ordinary  as  a  production  may  have  an  extraordinary 
effect  by  direct  and  fervid  delivery.  The  minister 
who  never  warms  himself  will  never  warm  up  his 


MY  WORK  IN  THE  PULPIT.  73 

congregation.  I  once  asked  Albert  Barnes,  of 
Philadelphia,  "Who  is  the  greatest  preacher  you 
have  ever  heard?"  Mr.  Barnes,  who  was  a  very 
clear-headed  thinker,  replied :  "I  cannot  answer  your 
question  exactly,  but  the  greatest  specimen  of 
preaching  I  ever  heard  was  by  the  Rev.  Edward 
N.  Kirk  before  my  congregation  during  a  revival; 
it  produced  a  tremendous  effect."  Those  of  us  that 
knew  Kirk  knew  that  he  was  not  a  man  of  genius 
or  profound  scholarship;  but  he  was  a  true  orator 
with  a  superb  voice  and  a  sweet  persuasiveness, 
and  his  whole  soul  was  on  fire  with  the  love  of 
Jesus  and  the  love  of  souls. 

It  is  not  easy  to  define  what  that  subtle  some- 
thing is  which  we  call  pulpit  magnetism.  As  near 
as  I  can  come  to  a  definition  I  would  say  it  is  the 
quality  or  faculty  in  the  speaker  that  arouses  the 
attention  and  strengthens  the  interest  of  his  auditors 
and  which,  when  aided  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  produces 
conviction  in  their  minds  by  the  truth  that  is  in 
Jesus.  The  heart  in  the  speaker's  voice  sends  that 
voice  into  the  hearts  of  his  hearers.  It  is  an  un- 
doubted fact  that  pulpit  fervor  has  been  a  char- 
acteristic of  almost  all  the  preachers  of  a  soul-win- 
ning Gospel.  The  fire  was  kindled  in  the  pulpit  that 
kindled  the  pews.  The  discourses  of  Frederick 
W.  Robertson,  of  Brighton,  were  masterpieces  of 
fresh  thought,  but  the  crowds  were  drawn  to  his 


74        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

church  because  they  were  delivered  with  a  fiery 
glow.  The  king  of  living  sermon-makers  is  Dr. 
McLaren,  of  Manchester.  His  vigorous  thought 
is  put  into  vigorous  language  and  then  vigorously 
spoken.  He  commits  his  grand  sermons  to  memory, 
and  then  looks  his  audience  in  the  eyes,  and  sends 
his  strong  voice  to  the  furthest  gallery.  Last  year 
after  I  had  thanked  him  for  his  powerful  "Address 
on  Preaching"  to  a  thousand  ministers  in  London, 
he  wrote  to  me:  "It  was  an  effort;  for  I  could  not 
trust  myself  to  do  without  a  manuscript,  and  I  am 
so  unaccustomed  to  reading  what  I  have  to  say  that 
it  was  like  dancing  a  hornpipe  in  fetters."  Yet 
manuscripts  are  not  always  fetters;  for  Dr.  Chal- 
mers read  every  line  of  his  sermons  with  thrilling 
and  tremendous  effect.  So  did  Dr.  Charles  Wads- 
worth  in  Philadelphia,  and  so  did  Phillips  Brooks 
in  Boston.  In  my  own  experience  I  have  as  often 
found  spiritual  results  from  the  discourses  partly 
or  mainly  written  out  as  from  those  spoken  ex- 
temporaneously. While  much  may  depend  upon 
the  conditions  in  the  congregation  and  much  aid 
may  be  drawn  from  the  intercessory  prayers  of  our 
people,  the  main  thing  is  to  have  a  baptism  of  fire 
in  our  own  hearts.  Sometimes  a  sermon  may  pro- 
duce but  little  impression,  yet  the  same  sermon  at 
another  time  and  place  may  deeply  move  an  audi- 
ence, and  yield  rich  spiritual  results.  Physical  con- 


MY  WORK  IN  THE  PULPIT.  75 

dition  may  have  some  influence  on  a  minister's 
delivery;  but  the  chief  element  in  the  eloquence 
that  awakens  and  converts  sinners  and  strengthens 
Christians  is  the  unction  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  Our 
best  power  is  the  power  from  on  high. 

I  would  say  to  young  ministers — look  at  your 
auditors  as  bound  to  the  judgment  seat  and  see  the 
light  of  eternity  flash  into  their  faces.  Then  the 
more  fervor  of  soul  you  put  into  your  preaching 
the  more  souls  you  will  win  to  your  Lord  and 
Saviour  Jesus  Christ. 

As  I  look  back  over  the  last  sixty  years  I  think 
I  discover  some  very  marked  changes  in  the  methods 
of  the  American  pulpit  since  the  days  of  my  youth. 
In  the  first  place  the  average  preacher  in  those 
days  was  more  doctrinal  than  at  the  present  time. 
The  masters  in  Israel  evidently  held  with  Phillips 
Brooks  that  "no  exhortation  to  a  good  life  that 
does  not  put  behind  it  some  great  truth,  as  deep 
as  eternity,  can  seize  and  hold  the  conscience." 
Therefore  they  pushed  to  the  front  such  deep  and 
mighty  themes  as  the  Attributes  of  God,  the  Divinity 
of  Jesus  Christ,  the  Nature  and  Desert  of  Sin,  the 
Atonement,  Regeneration,  Faith,  Resurrection,  and 
Judgment  to  come,  with  Heaven  and  Hell  as  tre- 
mendous realities.  They  emphasized  the  heinous- 
ness  and  the  desert  of  sin  as  a  great  argument  for 
repentance  and  acceptance  of  Jesus  Christ.  A  lapse 


76         RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

from  that  style  of  preaching  is  to  be  deplored;  for 
as  Gladstone  truly  remarked,  the  decline  or  decay 
of  a  sense  of  sin  against  God  is  one  of  the  most 
serious  symptoms  of  these  times. 

Charles  G.  Finney,  who  was  at  the  zenith  of  his 
power  sixty  years  ago,  bombarded  the  consciences 
of  sinners  with  a  prodigious  broadside  of  pulpit 
doctrine;  and  many  acute  lawyers  and  eminent 
merchants  were  converted  under  his  discourses. 
No  two  finer  examples  of  doctrinal  preaching — 
once  so  prevalent — could  be  cited  than  Dr.  Lyman 
Beecher  and  Dr.  Horace  Bushnell.  The  celebrated 
sermon  by  the  former  of  these  two  giants  on  the 
"Moral  Government  of  God"  was  characterized 
by  Thomas  H.  Skinner  as  the  mightiest  discourse 
he  had  ever  heard.  Henry  Ward  Beecher  hardly 
exaggerated  when  he  once  said  to  me,  "Put  all  of 
his  children  together  and  we  do  not  equal  my  father 
at  his  best."  Dr.  Bushnell's  masterly  discourses 
with  all  their  exquisite  poetry  and  insight  into 
human  hearts  were  largely  bottomed  and  built  on 
a  theological  basis.  To  those  two  great  doctrinal 
preachers  I  might  add  the  names  of  my  beloved  in- 
structors, Dr.  Archibald  Alexander  and  Dr.  Charles 
Hodge,  of  Princeton,  Albert  Barnes  and  Professor 
Park,  Dr.  Thornwell,  Dr.  Bethune,  Dr.  John  Todd, 
Dr.  G.  T.  Bedell,  Bishop  Simpson  and  President 
Stephen  Olin. 


MY  WORK  IN  THE  PULPIT.  77 

Has  the  American  pulpit  grown  in  spiritual  power 
since  those  days  ?  Have  the  churches  thriven  whose 
pastors  have  become  more  invertebrate  in  their 
theology  ? 

Another  characteristic  of  the  average  preacher 
sixty  years  ago  was  that  sermons  were  generally 
aimed  at  awakening  the  impenitent,  and  bringing 
them  to  Jesus  Christ.  The  evil  of  sin  was  empha- 
sized ;  the  way  of  salvation  explained ;  the  claims  of 
Christianity  were  presented ;  and  people  were  urged 
to  immediate  decision.  Nowadays  a  large  portion 
of  sermons  are  addressed  to  professing  Christians; 
many  others  are  addressed  to  nobody  in  particular, 
but  there  is  less  of  faithful,  fervid,  loving  and  per- 
suasive discourses  to  the  unconverted.  This  is  one 
of  the  reasons  for  the  lamentable  decrease  in  the 
number  of  conversions.  If  ministers  are  set  to  be 
watchmen  of  souls,  how  shall  they  escape  if  they 
neglect  the  salvation  of  souls? 

I  think,  too,  that  we  cannot  be  mistaken  in  say- 
ing that  there  has  been  a  decline  in  impassioned 
pulpit  eloquence.  There  is  a  change  in  the  fashions 
of  preaching.  Students  are  now  taught  to  be  calm 
and  colloquial ;  to  aim  at  producing  epigrammatical 
essays ;  to  discuss  sociological  problems  and  address 
the  intellects  of  their  auditors  rather  in  the  style 
of  the  lecture  platform  or  college  class  room.  The 
great  Dr.  Chalmers  "making  the  rafters  roar"  is  as 


78        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

much  a  bygone  tradition  in  many  quarters  as  faith 
in  the  Mosaic  authorship  of  the  Pentateuch.  I  have 
often  wished  that  the  young  Edward  N.  Kirk,  who 
melted  to  tears  the  professors  and  students  of 
Yale  during  the  revival  there,  could  come  back 
to  us  and  teach  candidates  for  the  ministry  how 
to  preach.  There  was  no  stentorian  shouting  or 
rhetorical  exhortation;  but  there  was  an  intense, 
solemn,  white-heat  earnestness  that  made  his  audi- 
tors feel  not  only  that  life  was  worth  living,  but 
that  the  soul  was  worth  saving  and  Jesus  Christ 
was  worth  serving,  and  Heaven  was  worth  securing, 
and  that  for  all  these  things  "God  will  bring  us 
into  judgment."  If  Lyman  Beecher  and  Dr.  Ed- 
ward Dorr  Griffin  and  Finney  did  not  possess  all  of 
Kirk's  grace  of  delivery,  they  possessed  his  fire,  and 
they  made  the  Gospel  doctrines  glow  with  a  living 
heat  that  burned  into  the  hearts  and  consciences 
of  their  auditors. 

May  God  send  into  our  churches  not  only  a 
revival  of  pure  and  undefiled  religion,  but  also  a 
revival  of  old-fashioned  soul-inspiring  pulpit  elo- 
quence ! 

It  is  rather  a  delicate  subject  to  touch  upon,  but 
I  am  happy  to  say  that  in  my  early  ministry  the 
preachers  of  God's  Word  were  not  hamstrung  by 
any  doubt  of  the  divine  inspiration  or  infallibility 
of  the  Book  that  lay  before  them  on  their  pulpits. 


MY  WORK  IN  THE  PULPIT.  79 

The  questions,  "Have  we  got  any  Bible?"  and  "If 
any  Bible,  how  much?"  had  not  been  hatched. 
When  I  was  in  Princeton  Seminary,  our  profoundly 
learned  Hebrew  Professor,  Dr.  J.  Addison  Alex- 
ander, no  more  disturbed  us  with  the  much-vaunted 
conjectural  Biblical  criticisms  than  he  disturbed  us 
with  Joe  Smith's  "golden  plates"  at  Nauvoo.  For 
this  fact  I  feel  deeply  thankful;  and  I  comfort 
myself  with  the  reflection  that  the  great  British 
preachers  of  the  last  dozen  years — Dr.  McLaren, 
Charles  H.  Spurgeon,  Newman  Hall,  Canon  Liddon, 
Dr.  Dale  and  Dr.  Joseph  Parker — have  suffered  no 
more  from  the  virulent  attacks  of  the  radical  and 
revolutionary  higher  criticism  than  I  have,  during 
my  long  and  happy  ministry. 

Ministers  had  some  advantages  sixty  or  seventy 
years  ago  over  their  successors  of  our  day.  They 
had  a  more  uninterrupted  opportunity  for  the  prep- 
aration of  their  sermons  and  for  thorough  personal 
visitation  of  their  flocks.  They  were  not  importuned 
so  often  to  serve  on  committees  and  to  be  partici- 
pants in  all  sorts  of  social  schemes  of  charity. 
Every  pastor  ought  to  keep  abreast  of  reformatory 
movements  as  long  as  they  do  not  trench  upon  the 
vital  and  imperative  duties  of  his  high  calling. 
"This  one  thing  I  do,"  said  single-hearted  Paul ; 
and  if  Paul  were  a  pastor  now  in  New  York  or 
Boston  or  Chicago,  he  would  make  short  work  of 


8o        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

many  an  intrusive  rap  of  a  time-killer  at  his  study 
door. 

I  have  noted  frankly  a  few  of  the  changes  that 
I  have  observed  in  the  methods  of  our  American 
pulpit  during  my  long  life,  but  not,  I  trust,  in  a 
pessimistic  or  censorious  spirit.  God  forbid  that 
I  should  disparage  the  noble,  conscientious,  self- 
denying  and  Heaven-blessed  labors  of  thousands 
of  Christ's  ministers  in  our  broad  land !  They 
have  greater  difficulties  to  encounter  than  I  had 
when  I  began  my  work.  They  are  surrounded  with 
an  atmosphere  of  intense  materialism.  The  ambi- 
tion for  the  "seen  things"  increasingly  blinds  men 
to  the  "things  that  are  unseen  and  eternal."  Wealth 
and  worldliness  unspiritualize  thousands  of  pro- 
fessed Christians.  The  present  artificial  arrange- 
ments of  society  antagonize  devotional  meetings 
and  special  efforts  to  promote  revivals.  On  Sabbath 
mornings  many  a  minister  has  to  shovel  out  scores 
of  his  congregation  from  under  the  drifts  (not  very 
clean  snow  either)  of  the  mammoth  Sunday  news- 
papers. 

The  zealous  pastor  of  to-day  has  to  contend  with 
the  lowered  popular  faith  in  the  authority  of  God's 
Word;  with  the  lowered  reverence  for  God's  day 
and  a  diminished  habit  of  attending  upon  God's 
worship.  Do  these  increased  difficulties  demand  a 
new  Gospel  ?  No ;  but  rather  a  mightier  faith  in  the 


MY  WORK  IN  THE  PULPIT.  81 

one  we  have.  Do  they  demand  new  doctrines? 
No;  but  more  power  in  preaching  the  truths  that 
have  outlived  nineteen  centuries.  Do  we  need  a 
new  revelation  of  Jesus  Christ?  Yes,  yes,  in  the 
fuller  manifestation  of  Him;  in  the  more  loving, 
courageous  and  consecrated  lives  of  His  followers. 
Do  we  need  a  new  Baptism  of  the  Holy  Spirit? 
Verily  we  do  need  it;  and  then  our  pulpits  will  be 
clothed  with  power,  and  our  preachers  will  have 
tongues  of  fire,  and  every  change  will  be  a  change 
for  the  better  advancement  and  enlargement  of  the 
Kingdom  of  our  adorable  Lord. 


CHAPTER  VII 

MY  EXPERIENCE  IN   REVIVALS. 

I  HAVE  always  counted  it  a  matter  for  thankful- 
ness that  I  made  my  preparation  for  the  ministry 
at  Princeton  Theological  Seminary.  The  period 
that  I  spent  there,  from  September,  1843,  to  May, 
1846,  was  a  golden  period  in  its  history.  The  ven- 
erable Archibald  Alexander,  wonderfully  endowed 
with  sagacity  and  spiritual  insight,  instructed  us  in 
the  duties  of  the  preacher  and  the  pastor.  Dr. 
Charles  Hodge,  the  king  of  Presbyterian  theolo- 
gians, was  in  the  prime  of  his  power.  His  teachings 
have  since  been  embodied  in  his  masterful  volume 
on  "Systematic  Theology."  Dr.  Joseph  Addison 
Alexander,  who,  Dr.  Hodge  said,  was,  taking  him 
all  in  all,  "the  most  gifted  man  with  whom  I  was 
ever  personally  acquainted,"  was  in  the  chair  of  He- 
brew and  Old  Testament  literature.  Urbane,  old 
Dr.  Samuel  Miller,  was  the  Professor  of  Ecclesiasti- 
cal History.  Those  wise  men  taught  us  not  only  to 
think,  but  to  believe.  All  education  is  atmospheric, 
and  the  atmosphere  <H  Princeton  Seminary  was  "' 

deeply  and  sweetly  Evangelical.    At  five  o'clock  on 

82 


MY  EXPERIENCE  IN  REVIVALS.  83 

the  morning  after  I  received  my  diploma,  I  was  off 
for  Wyoming  Valley  in  Pennsylvania,  the  Arcadian 
spot  made  famous  in  the  volume  of  Campbell's 
"Gertrude  of  Wyoming."  I  spent  five  months  there 
supplying  the  pulpit  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Mitchell,  who 
was  absent  to  recruit  his  health.  In  the  Autumn 
I  received  an  invitation  to  take  charge  of  the  Pres- 
byterian Church  of  Burlington,  N.  J.,  founded  by 
the  princely  and  philanthropic  Dr.  Cortland  Van 
Rensellaer,  son  of  the  Patroon  at  Albany.  It  was 
the  very  place  for  a  young  preacher  to  begin  his 
work.  The  congregation  was  small,  and,  therefore, 
I  obtained  an  opportunity  to  study  individual  char- 
acter. It  was  a  very  difficult  field  of  labor,  and  it  is 
good  for  a  minister  to  bear  the  yoke  in  his  youth. 
My  work  at  first  was  attended  with  many  discour- 
agements. I  preached  as  pungently  as  I  was  able, 
but  no  visible  results  seemed  to  follow.  One  day 
the  wife  of  one  of  my  two  church  elders  came  to  me 
in  my  study,  and  told  me  that  her  son  had  been 
awakened  by  the  faithful  talk  of  a  young  Christian 
girl,  who  had  brought  some  work  to  her  husband's 
shoe  store.  I  said  to  the  elder's  wife:  "The  Holy 
Spirit  is  evidently  working  on  one  soul — let  us  have 
a  prayer  meeting  at  your  house  to-night."  We 
spent  the  afternoon  in  gathering  our  small  congre- 
gation together,  and  when  I  got  to  her  house  it  was 
packed  to  the  door.  I  have  attended  thousands  of 


84        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

prayer  meetings  since  then,  but  never  one  that  had 
a  more  distinct  resemblance  to  the  Pentecostal  gath- 
ering in  "the  upper  room"  at  Jerusalem.  The  atmos- 
phere seemed  to  be  charged  with  a  divine  electric- 
ity that  affected  almost  every  one  in  the  house. 
Three  times  over  I  closed  the  meeting  with  a  bene- 
diction, but  it  began  again,  and  the  people  lingered 
until  a  very  late  hour,  melted  together  by  "a  bap- 
tism of  fire."  That  wonderful  meeting  was  fol- 
lowed by  special  services  every  night,  and  the  Holy 
Spirit  descended  with  great  power.  My  little  church 
was  doubled  in  numbers,  and  I  learned  more  prac- 
tical theology  in  a  month  than  any  seminary  could 
teach  me  in  a  year. 

That  revival  was  an  illustration  of  the  truth  that 
a  good  work  of  grace  often  begins  with  the  personal 
effort  of  one  or  two  individuals.  The  Burlington 
awakening  began  with  the  little  girl  and  the  elder's 
wife.  We  ministers  must  never  despise  or  neglect 
"the  day  of  small  things." 

Every  pastor  ought  to  be  constantly  on  the  watch, 
with  open  eye  and  ear,  for  the  first  signs  of  an  espe- 
cial manifestation  of  the  Spirit's  presence.  Elijah, 
on  Carmel,  did  not  only  pray;  he  kept  his  eyes 
open  to  see  the  rising  cloud.  The  moment  that  there 
is  a  manifestation  of  the  Spirit's  presence,  it  must 
be  followed  up  promptly.  For  example,  during  my 
pastorate  in  the  Market  Street  Church,  New  York, 


MY  EXPERIENCE  IN  REVIVALS.  85 

(from  1853  to  1860),  I  was  out  one  afternoon  mak- 
ing calls,  and  I  discovered  that  in  two  or  three  fam- 
ilies there  were  anxious  seekers  for  salvation.  I 
immediately  called  together  the  officers  of  the 
church,  stated  to  them  my  observations,  instituted 
a  series  of  meetings  for  almost  every  evening,  fol- 
lowed them  with  conversation  with  enquirers,  and  a 
large  ingathering  of  souls  rewarded  our  efforts  and 
prayers.  I  have  no  doubt  that  very  often  a  spark 
of  divine  influence  is  allowed  to  die  for  want  of 
being  fanned  by  prayer  and  prompt  labors,  whereas, 
it  is  sometimes  dashed  out,  as  by  a  bucket  of  cold 
water  thrown  on  by  inconsistent  or  quarrelsome 
church  members.  It  was  to  Christians  that  St.  Paul 
sent  the  message,  "Quench  not  the  Spirit." 

In  1858  there  began  a  marvelous  work  of  grace, 
which  extended  not  only  throughout  the  churches 
in  New  York,  but  throughout  the  whole  country. 
The  flame  was  kindled  at  the  beginning  of  the  year 
in  a  noon-day  prayer  meeting,  instituted  by  that 
single-eyed  servant  of  Christ,  Jeremiah  C.  Lam- 
phier,  who  had  once  been  a  singer  in  the  choir  of  my 
church.  The  flame  thus  kindled  in  that  meeting 
soon  extended  to  my  church  in  Market  Street,  and 
presently  spread  over  the  whole  city.  The  special 
feature  of  the  revival  of  1858  was  the  noon-day 
prayer  meeting.  It  was  my  privilege  to  conduct 
the  first  noon  meeting  in  Burton's  old  theatre  in 


86        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

Chambers  Street,  and  in  a  few  days  after,  a  similar 
one  in  the  Collegiate  Church  in  Ninth  Street,  and 
also  the  first  prayer  meeting  in  a  warehouse  at  the 
lower  end  of  Broadway.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say 
that  often  there  were  not  less  than  8,000  to  10,000 
of  God's  people,  who  came  together  at  the  noon-tide 
hour  with  the  spirit  of  supplication  and  prayer. 
The  flame,  having  spread  over  the  city,  then  leaped 
to  Philadelphia,  and  Jayne's  Hall,  on  Chestnut 
Street,  was  thronged  by  an  immense  number  of  peo- 
ple, led  by  George  H.  Stuart.  And  so  it  went  on 
from  town  to  town,  and  from  city  to  city,  over  the 
length  and  breadth  of  our  land.  The  revival 
crossed  the  ocean  and  extended  to  Ireland.  On  a 
visit  to  Belfast  I  saw  handbills  on  the  streets  calling 
the  people  to  noon-day  gatherings. 

I  began  my  ministry  in  Lafayette  Avenue  Presby- 
terian Church,  Brooklyn,  as  its  first  pastor,  in  April, 
1860.  From  the  start  I  struck  for  souls ;  and  when 
our  new  edifice  was  dedicated  we  were  under  a  re- 
freshing shower  of  the  Divine  Spirit.  Six  years 
after  my  installation  as  pastor,  God  blessed  us  with 
an  extraordinary  down-pour.  The  first  drops  were 
followed  by  an  abundance  of  rain.  That  revival  be- 
gan where  revivals  often  begin, — in  the  prayer 
meeting.  It  was  on  the  evening  of  the  8th  of  Jan- 
uary, the  first  evening  of  the  "week  of  prayer," 
which  is  generally  observed  over  the  land.  The 


MY  EXPERIENCE  IN  REVIVALS.  87 

meeting  was  held  under  the  direction  of  our  Young 
People's  Association, — that  same  body  of  young 
Christian  workers  which  gave  the  Rev.  Francis  E. 
Clark  both  the  inspiration  and  practical  hints  for 
the  formation  of  his  first  society  of  Christian  En- 
deavor. What  a  fearful  bitter  night  was  that  8th 
of  January !  Through  that  stinging  Arctic  atmos- 
phere came  a  goodly  number  with  hearts  on  fire  with 
the  love  of  Jesus.  The  prayers  that  night  were  well 
aimed;  and  a  man,  who  afterwards  became  a  use- 
ful officer  of  the  church,  was  converted  on  the  spot. 
On  the  Friday  evening  of  that  week  our  lecture- 
room  was  packed,  and  when  the  elder  requested  that 
any  who  desired  special  prayer  should  rise,  two 
very  prominent  men  in  this  community  were  on 
their  feet  in  an  instant.  The  meeting  was  electri- 
fied; every  one  saw  that  God  was  with  us.  There 
was  no  extraordinary  excitement;  the  feeling  was 
too  deep  for  that.  We  felt  as  the  ancient  Hebrew 
prophet  felt  when  he  heard  the  "still  small  voice 
from  heaven,"  and  went  out  ready  for  action.  I  felt 
at  once  that  a  great  work  for  Christ  had  commenced. 
I  called  our  officers  together  at  once,  and,  to  use 
the  naval  phrase,  we  "cleared  the  decks  for  action." 
As  the  good  work  had  begun  in  our  own  church, 
without  any  external  assistance,  we  determined  to 
carry  on  the  work  ourselves ;  and.  during  the  next 
five  months,  I  never  had  any  pulpit  help  except  on 


88        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

two  evenings  during  the  week,  when  two  fervid,  dis- 
creet neighboring  pastors  preached  for  me.  Com- 
monly, every  church  should  do  its  own  spiritual 
harvesting — just  as  much  as  every  pair  of  young 
lovers  should  do  their  own  love-making,  and  wise 
parents  their  own  family  training.  Looking  outside 
is  a  temptation  to  shirk  responsibility.  If  a  preacher 
can  preach  the  Gospel  of  Jesus  Christ  faithfully, 
and  the  Lord  God  is  with  him,  why  rob  him  of 
the  joy  of  the  harvest  by  sending  away  for  any 
stranger  ? 

My  plan  of  action  was  this.  Twice  on  each  Sab- 
bath, and  on  two  evenings  in  the  week,  I  preached 
as  clearly  and  pungently  as  I  could;  sometimes  to 
awakened  souls,  sometimes  to  backsliders,  some- 
times to  the  impenitent,  sometimes  to  souls  who 
were  seeking  salvation.  I  spoke  of  the  great  central 
truths: — personal  guilt,  Christ's  atoning  work,  the 
offices  of  the  Spirit,  redemption,  the  claims  of  the 
Saviour,  the  necessity  of  immediate  repentance,  im- 
mediate acceptance  of  Christ  and  the  joy  and  power 
of  an  useful  Christian  life.  During  a  revival,  ser- 
mons make  themselves;  they  grow  spontaneously. 
On  the  Monday  evening  of  each  week  our  young 
people  had  the  field  with  their  regular  gatherings, 
and  new  converts  were  encouraged  to  narrate  their 
experiences.  On  three  other  evenings  of  the  week 
the  whole  church  had  a  service  for  prayer  and  ex- 


MY  EXPERIENCE  IN  REVIVALS.  89 

hortation,  conducted  by  our  laymen.  The  praying 
women  met  on  one  afternoon;  the  girls  by  them- 
selves on  another  afternoon,  and  the  boys  on  an- 
other. During  each  week,  from  eleven  to  twelve, 
different  meetings  were  held,  and  in  so  large  a  con- 
gregation, these  sub-divisions  were  necessary.  Af- 
ter every  public  service  I  held  an  inquiry  meeting.  I 
invited  people  to  converse  with  me  in  the  study 
during  the  day,  and  I  made  as  much  pastoral  visita- 
tion from  house  to  house  as  possible. 

"So  built  we  the  walls  .  .  .  for  the  people  had 
a  mind  to  work."  For  five  months  that  blessed  work 
went  forward,  and  as  a  result  a  very  great  num- 
ber were  added  to  the  church,  of  whom  about  one 
hundred  were  heads  of  families.  Our  sacramental 
Sabbaths  were  holy,  joyous  feasts,  and  the  sheaves 
were  brought  in  with  singing.  Some  of  the  new 
converts  banded  themselves  in  a  new  organization, 
and  to  perpetuate  the  memory  of  that  glorious 
spiritual  outpouring,  they  called  it  the  "Memorial 
Presbyterian  Church."  It  now  worships  in  the 
beautiful  edifice  on  Seventh  Avenue,  and  is  one  of 
the  most  flourishing  churches  in  Brooklyn.  The  ef- 
fect of  that  work  of  grace  reached  on  into  eternity. 
One  of  its  first  effects,  on  the  writer  of  these  lines, 
was  to  confirm  him  in  the  opinion  that  the  living 
Gospel,  sent  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  is  the  one  only  way 
to  save  sinners ;  that  a  church  must  back  up  a  minis- 


90        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

ter  by  its  personal  efforts,  and  when  preacher  and 
people  work  together  only  for  God's  glory,  He  is 
as  sure  to  answer  prayer  as  the  morrow's  sun  is  to 
rise  in  the  heavens. 

It  has  not  been  my  practice  to  invite  the  labors 
of  an  evangelist;  but  in  January,  1872,  Mr.  Dwight 
L.  Moody,  with  whom  I  had  as  yet  but  a  slight  ac- 
quaintance, but  whom  I  since  have  honored  and 
loved  with  my  whole  heart,  said  to  the  superintend- 
ent of  our  Mission  Chapel :  "What  a  nice  place  this 
is  to  hold  some  meetings  in."  He  was  cordially  in- 
vited; and  at  the  end  of  a  week  about  twenty  per- 
sons had  been  mustered  together  on  the  sharp  win- 
ter evenings.  "This  seems  slow  work,"  I  said  to 
him.  "Very  true,"  replied  my  sagacious  brother. 
"It  is  slow,  but  if  you  want  to  kindle  a  fire,  you  col- 
lect a  handful  of  sticks,  light  them  with  a  match, 
and  keep  on  blowing  till  they  blaze.  Then  you  may 
heap  on  the  wood.  I  am  working  here  with  a  hand- 
ful of  Christians,  endeavoring  to  warm  them  up 
with  love  for  Christ ;  and,  if  they  keep  well  kindled, 
a  general  revival  will  come,  and  outside  sinners 
will  be  converted."  He  was  right;  the  revival  did 
come.  It  spread  into  the  parent  church,  and  over 
one  hundred  converts  made  their  public  confession 
of  Christ  before  our  communion  table.  It  was  in 
those  little  chapel  meetings  that  my  beloved  brother, 
Moody,  prepared  his  first  "Bible  Readings,"  which 


MY  EXPERIENCE  IN  REVIVALS.  91 

afterward  became  so  celebrated  in  this  country  and 
in  Great  Britain.  A  few  months  afterward  I  met 
Mr.  Moody  in  London.  Coming  one  day  into  my 
room,  he  said  to  me :  "They  wish  me  to  come  over 
here  and  preach  in  England."  I  urged  him  at  once 
to  do  so;  "for,"  I  said,  "these  English  people  are 
the  best  people  to  preach  to  in  the  world."  Moody 
then  said,  "I  will  go  home, — secure  somebody  to 
sing,  and  come  over  and  make  the  experiment."  He 
did  come  home, — he  secured  my  neighbor,  Mr. 
Sankey, — returned  to  England,  and  commenced  the 
most  extraordinary  revival  campaign  that  had  been 
known  in  Great  Britain  since  the  days  of  Whitefield. 
I  cannot  dismiss  this  heaven-honored  name  without 
a  word  of  honest,  loving  tribute  to  the  man  and  his 
magnificent  work.  D.  L.  Moody  was  by  far  the 
most  extraordinary  proclaimer  of  the  Gospel  that 
America  has  produced  during  the  last  century,  as 
Spurgeon  was  the  most  extraordinary  in  Great  Brit- 
ain. Those  two  heralds  of  salvation  led  the  column. 
They  reached  millions  by  their  eloquent  tongues, 
and  their  printed  words  went  out  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth.  The  single  aim  of  both  was  to  point  to  the 
cross  of  Christ,  and  to  save  souls;  all  their  educa- 
tional and  benevolent  enterprises  were  subordinate 
to  this  one  great  sovereign  purpose.  Neither  one 
of  them  ever  entered  a  college  or  theological  sem- 
inary;  yet  they  commanded  the  ear  of  Christendom. 


92        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

The  simple  reason  was — they  were  both  God-made 
preachers,  and  were  both  endowed  with  immense 
common  sense,  and  executive  ability. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

AUTHORSHIP 

PRINTERS'  ink  stained  my  fingers  in  my  boyhood ; 
for,  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  I  ventured  into  a  contro- 
versy on  the  slavery  question,  in  the  columns  of  our 
county  newspaper;  and,  in  the  same  paper,  pub- 
lished a  series  of  letters  from  Europe,  in  1842. 
During  my  course  of  study  in  the  Princeton  Theo- 
logical Seminary,  I  was  a  contributor  to  several 
papers,  to  Godey's  Magazine  in  Philadelphia,  and 
to  the  "New  Englander,*'  a  literary  and  theological 
review  published  at  New  Haven.  I  wrote  the  first 
article  for  the  first  number  of  the  "Nassau  Month- 
ly," a  Princeton  College  publication,  which  still  ex- 
ists under  another  name.  Up  to  the  year  1847  all 
my  contributions  had  been  to  secular  periodicals, 
but  in  that  year  I  ventured  to  send  from  Burlington, 
N.  J.,  where  I  was  then  preaching,  a  short  article  to 
the  "New  York  Observer,"  signed  by  my  initials. 
This  was  followed  by  several  others  which,  falling 
under  the  eye  of  my  beloved  friend,  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Cortland  Van  Rensellaer,  led  him  to  say  to  me: 
"You  are  on  the  right  track  now;  work  on  that  as 
93 


94        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

long  as  you  live,"  and  I  have  obeyed  his  injunction. 
Within  a  year  or  two  I  began  to  write  for  the  "Pres- 
byterian" at  Philadelphia.  Its  proprietor  urged  me 
to  accept  an  editorial  position,  but  I  declined  his 
proposal,  as  I  have  declined  several  other  requests 
to  assume  editorial  positions  since.  I  would  always 
rather  write  when  I  choose  than  write  when  I  must, 
and  I  have  never  felt  at  liberty  to  hold  any  other 
position  while  I  was  a  pastor  of  a  church.  My  con- 
tributions to  the  press  never  hindered  my  work  as 
a  minister,  for  writing  for  the  press  promotes  per- 
spicuity in  preparing  for  the  pulpit. 

In  the  summer  of  1853  I  was  called  from  the 
Third  Presbyterian  Church  of  Trenton  to  the  Mar- 
ket Street  Reformed  Church  of  New  York  City. 
As  a  loyal  Dutchman,  I  began  to  write  at  once  for 
the  "Christian  Intelligencer,"  and  have  continued  in 
its  clean  hospitable  columns  to  this  day.  At  the  ur- 
gent request  of  Mr.  Henry  C.  Bowen  I  began  to 
write  for  his  "Independent,"  and  sent  to  its  columns 
over  six  hundred  articles;  but  of  all  my  associate 
contributors  in  those  days,  not  a  solitary  one  sur- 
vives. In  May,  1860,  My  first  article  appeared  in 
the  New  York  Evangelist,  and  during  these  forty- 
two  years  I  have  tested  the  patience  of  its  readers  by 
imposing  on  them  more  than  eighteen  hundred  of 
my  lucubrations.  As  I  was  preparing  one  of  my 
earliest  articles,  I  happened  to  spy  the  blossoms  of 


AUTHORSHIP.  95 

the  catalpa  tree  before  my  window,  and  .for  want 
of  a  title  I  headed  it  "Under  the  Catalpa."  The  tree 
flourishes  still,  and  bids  fair  to  blossom  after  the 
hand  that  pens  these  lines  has  turned  to  dust.  I  need 
not  recapitulate  the  names  of  all  the  many  journals 
to  which  I  have  sent  contributions, — many  of  which 
have  been  republished  in  Great  Britain,  Australia 
and  other  parts  of  the  civilized  world.  I  once  gave 
to  my  friend,  Mr.  Arthur  B.  Cook,  the  eminent  sten- 
ographer, some  statistics  of  the  number  of  my  arti- 
cles, and  the  various  journals  in  which  they  had  ap- 
peared in  this  and  other  countries.  He  made  an 
estimate  of  the  extent  of  their  publication,  and  then 
said  to  me :  "It  would  be  within  bounds  to  say  that 
your  four  thousand  articles  have  been  printed  in  at 
least  two  hundred  millions  of  copies."  The  produc- 
tion of  these  articles  involved  no  small  labor,  but 
has  brought  its  own  reward.  To  enter  a  multitude 
of  homes  week  after  week ;  to  converse  with  the  in- 
mates about  many  of  the  most  vital  questions  in 
morals  and  religion ;  to  speak  words  of  guidance  to 
the  perplexed;  of  comfort  to  the  troubled,  and  of 
exhortation  to  the  saints  and  to  the  sinful — all  these 
involved  a  solemn  responsibility.  That  this  life- 
work  with  the  pen  has  not  been  without  fruit  I 
gratefully  acknowledge.  When  a  group  of  railway 
employees,  at  a  station  in  England,  gathered  around 
me  to  tender  their  thanks  for  spiritual  help  afforded 


96        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

them  by  my  articles,  I  felt  repaid  for  hours  of  extra 
labor  spent  in  preaching  through  the  press. 

My  first  attempt  at  book-making  was  during  my 
ministry  at  Trenton,  New  Jersey,  when  I  published 
a  small  volume  entitled  "Stray  Arrows."  This  was. 
followed  at  different  times  by  several  volumes  of 
an  experimental  and  devotional  character.  In  the 
spring  of  1868  one  of  our  beautiful  twin  boys,  at  the 
age  of  four  and  a  half  years,  was  taken  from  us  by  a 
very  brief  and  violent  attack  of  scarlet  fever.  We 
received  a  large  number  of  tender  letters  of  condo- 
lence, which  gave  us  so  much  comfort  that  my  wife 
suggested  that  they  should  be  printed  with  the  hope 
that  they  might  be  equally  comforting  to  other  peo- 
ple in  affliction.  I  accordingly  selected  a  number 
of  them,  added  the  simple  story  of  our  precious 
child's  short  career,  and  handed  the  package  to  my 
beloved  friend  and  publisher,  the  late  Mr.  Peter 
Carter,  with  the  request  that  they  be  printed  for 
private  distribution.  He  urged,  after  reading  them, 
that  I  should  allow  him  to  publish  them,  which  he 
did  under  the  title  of  "The  Empty  Crib,  a  Book  of 
Consolation."  That  simple  story  of  a  sweet  child's 
life  has  travelled  widely  over  the  world  and  made 
our  little  "Georgie"  known  in  many  a  home.  Mrs. 
Gladstone  told  me  that  when  she  and  her  husband 
had  read  it,  it  recalled  their  own  loss  of  a  child 
tmder  similar  circumstances.  Dean  Stanley  read  it 


AUTHORSHIP.  97 

aloud  to  Lady  Augusta  Stanley  in  the  Deanery  of 
Westminster;  and  when  I  took  him  to  our  own 
unrivalled  Greenwood  Cemetery  he  asked  to  be 
driven  to  the  spot  where  the  dust  of  our  dear  boy  is 
slumbering.  Many  thousands  have  visited  that 
grave  and  gazed  with  tender  admiration  on  the  ex- 
quisite marble  medallion  of  the  child  face, — by  the 
sculptor,  Charles  Calverley, — which  adorns  the  mon- 
ument. 

Fourteen  years  afterwards,  in  the  autumn  of 
1 88 1,  "the  four  corners  of  my  house  were  smitten" 
again  with  a  heart-breaking  bereavement  in  the 
death,  by  typhoid  fever,  of  our  second  daughter, 
Louise  Ledyard  Cuyler,  at  the  age  of  twenty-two, 
who  possessed  a  most  inexpressible  beauty  of  person 
and  character.  Her  playful  humor,  her  fascinating 
charm  of  manner,  and  her  many  noble  qualities  drew 
to  her  the  admiration  of  a  large  circle  of  friends, 
as  well  as  the  pride  of  our  parental  hearts.  After 
her  departure  I  wrote,  through  many  tears,  a  small 
volume  entitled  "God's  Light  on  Dark  Clouds," 
with  the  hope  that  it  might  bring  some  rays  of  com- 
fort into  those  homes  that  were  shadowed  in  grief. 
Judging  from  the  numberless  letters  that  have  come 
to  me  I  cannot  but  believe  that,  of  all  the  volumes 
which  I  have  written,  this  one  has  been  the  most 
honored  of  God  as  a  message-bearer  to  that  largest 
of  all  households — the  household  of  the  sorrowing. 


98        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

Let  me  add  that  I  have  published  a  single  volume 
of  sermons,  entitled  "The  Eagle's  Nest,"  and  a  vol- 
ume of  foreign  travel,  "From  the  Nile  to  Norway" ; 
but  all  the  remainder  of  my  score  of  volumes  have 
been  of  a  practical  and  devotional  character.  Of 
the  twenty-two  volumes  that  I  have  written,  six 
have  been  translated  into  Swedish,  and  two  into  the 
language  of  my  Dutch  ancestors.  Thanks  be  to 
God  for  the  precious  privilege  of  preaching  His  glo- 
rious Gospel  with  the  types  that  out-reach  ten  thou- 
sand tongues!  And  thanks  also  to  a  number  of 
friends,  whose  faces  I  never  saw,  but  whose  kind 
words  have  cheered  me  through  more  than  a  half 
century  of  happy  labors.  I  cannot  conclude  this 
brief  chapter  without  expressing  my  deep  obligations 
to  that  noble  organization,  the  "American  Tract  So- 
ciety," which  has  given  a  wide  circulation  to  many 
of  my  books — including  "Heart-Life,"  "Newly  En- 
listed; or,  Counsels  to  Young  Converts" — and 
"Beulah-Land,"  a  volume  of  good  cheer  to  aged 
pilgrims  on  their  journey  heavenward. 


CHAPTER  IX 

SOME  FAMOUS  PEOPLE  ABROAD. 

Gladstone. — Dr.  Brown. — Dean  Stanley. — Shaftes- 
bury,  etc. 

IN  a  former  chapter  of  this  volume  I  gave  my 
reminiscences  of  some  celebrities  in  Great  Britain 
sixty  years  ago.  In  the  present  chapter  I  group 
together  several  distinguished  persons  whom  I  met 
during  subsequent  visits.  The  first  time  I  ever  saw 
Mr.  Gladstone  was  in  August,  1857,  when  Lord 
Kinnaird  kindly  took  me  into  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, and  pointed  out  to  me  from  a  side  gallery  the 
most  prominent  celebrities.  A  tall,  finely  formed 
man,  in  a  clear  resonant  voice,  addressed  the 
House  for  a  few  moments.  "That  is  Glad- 
stone," whispered  Lord  Kinnaird.  Mr.  Glad- 
stone had  already  won  fame  as  a  great  financier  in 
the  role  of  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer;  but  was 
at  this  time  out  of  office,  occupying  an  independent 
position.  He  was  already  beginning  to  break  loose 
from  Toryism,  and  ere  long  became  the  most  bril- 
liant and  powerful  leader  that  the  British  Liberal 
party  has  ever  followed.  As  an  orator  he  is  ranked 

99 


ioo      RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

next  to  Bright ;  as  a  party  manager,  he  was  always 
a  match  for  Disraeli,  and  as  a  statesman  he  has  won 
the  foremost  place  in  British  annals  during  the  last 
half  century. 

In  June,  1872,  I  happened  to  be  in  London  at  the 
time  of  the  great  excitement  over  the  famous  "Ala- 
bama difficulty."  The  Court  of  Arbitration  was 
sitting  at  Geneva ;  things  were  not  going  smoothly, 
and  there  was  danger  of  a  rupture  with  the  United 
States.  At  an  anniversary  meeting  at  Exeter  Hall 
I.  had  made  a  speech  in  which  I  spoke  of  the  cordial 
feeling  of  my  countrymen,  and  their  desire  to  avoid 
a  conflict  with  the  mother  country.  It  was  suggest- 
ed to  me  that  I  should  call  on  Mr.  Gladstone,  who 
was  then  Premier;  and  my  friend,  Dr.  Newman 
Hall, —  who  had  always  had  a  warm  personal  at- 
tachment to  Gladstone, — accompanied  me.  The 
Premier  then  occupied  a  stately  mansion  in  Carlton 
House  Terrace,  next  to  the  Duke  of  York's  column. 
We  found  him  in  his  private  sitting  room  with  a  cup 
of  coffee  before  him  and  a  morning  newspaper  in 
his  hand.  Fifteen  years  had  made  a  great  change 
in  his  appearance.  He  had  become  stouter  and 
broader  shouldered.  His  thin  hair  was  turned  gray, 
and  his  large  eyes  and  magnificent  brow  reminded 
me  of  Daniel  Webster.  He  received  me  cordially, 
and  we  spent  half  an  hour  in  conversation  about  the 
difficulties  that  seemed  to  be  obstructing  an  arnica- 


DR.   CUYLER  AT  50. 


SOME  FAMOUS  PEOPLE  ABROAD.  101 

ble  settlement  of  the  Alabama  controversy.  Mr. 
Gladstone  appeared  to  be  puzzled  about  a  recent 
belligerent  speech  delivered  by  Mr.  Charles  Sum- 
ner  in  our  Senate  chamber,  and  I  was  glad  to  give 
him  a  hint  or  two  in  regard  to  some  of  our  eloquent 
Senator's  idiosyncrasies.  What  impressed  me  most 
in  Gladstone's  free,  earnest  talk  was  its  solemn  and 
thoroughly  Christian  tone — he  was  longing  for 
peace  on  principle.  On  my  telling  him  playfully 
that  the  time  which  belonged  to  the  British  Em- 
pire was  too  precious  for  further  talk,  he  said: 
"Come  and  breakfast  with  me  to-morrow  morning, 
and  we  will  finish  our  conversation."  The  next 
morning  Dr.  Hall  and  myself  presented  ourselves  at 
ten  o'clock  in  Mr.  Gladstone's  parlor.  We  had  a 
very  pleasant  chat  with  Mrs.  Gladstone  (a  tall,  slen- 
der lady,  whose  only  claim  to  beauty  was  her  be- 
nevolent countenance),  about  the  schemes  of  charity 
in  which  she  was  deeply  interested.  At  the  break- 
fast table  opposite  to  us  were  the  venerable  Dean 
Ramsey,  of  Edinburgh,  and  Professor  Talbot,  of 
Oxford  University.  The  Premier  indulged  in  some 
jocose  remarks  which  encouraged  me  to  tell  him 
stories  about  our  Southern  negroes,  in  whom  he 
seemed  to  be  much  interested.  He  laughed  over  the 
story  of  the  eloquent  colored  brother  who,  when  asked 
how  he  came  to  preach  so  well,  said :  "Well,  Boss,  I 
takes  de  text  fust;  I  splains  it;  den  I  spounds  it, 


102      RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

and  den  /  puts  in  de  rousements"  Gladstone 
was  quite  delighted  with  this,  and  said  it  was  about 
the  best  description  of  real  parliamentary  eloquence. 
He  told  us  that  one  secret  of  his  own  marvelous 
health  was  his  talent  for  sound,  unbroken  sleep.  "I 
lock  all  my  public  cares  outside  my  chamber  door," 
said  he,  "and  nothing  ever  disturbs  my  slumbers." 
While  we  were  at  breakfast  a  package  of  dispatches 
was  brought  in  and  laid  beside  Mr.  Gladstone's 
plate.  He  left  them  quietly  alone  until  the  meal  was 
over  and  then,  taking  them  to  a  corner  of  the  par- 
lor, perused  them  intently.  I  saw  that  his  face  was 
lighted  up  with  a  pleasant  smile.  Beckoning  me 
to  come  to  him  he  said,  with  much  enthusiasm: 
"Doctor,  here  is  good  news  from  the  arbitrators  at 
Geneva.  The  worst  is  over.  I  do  not  pretend  to 
know  the  purposes  of  Providence,  but  I  am  sure  that 
no  earthly  power  can  now  prevent  an  honorable 
peace  between  your  country  and  mine."  It  has  al- 
ways been  a  matter  of  thankfulness  that  I  should 
have  been  with  the  greatest  of  living  Englishmen 
when  his  warm  heart  was  relieved  of  the  appre- 
hension of  the  danger  of  a  conflict  with  America. 
After  entering  our  names  in  the  autograph  book  on 
the  parlor  table,  we  withdrew,  and  at  the  door  we 
met  the  Duke  of  Argyll,  a  member  of  the  Premier's 
Cabinet,  who  was  calling  on  official  business. 
My  next  meeting  with  Gladstone  was  a  very  brief 


SOME  FAMOUS  PEOPLE  ABROAD.  103 

one,  in  the  summer  of  1885.  He  had  lately  resigned 
his  third  Premiership;  his  health  was  badly  im- 
paired ;  his  splendid  voice  was  apparently  ruined  by 
an  attack  of  bronchitis,  and  the  world  supposed  that 
his  public  career  was  ended.  I  called  at  his  house 
in  Whitehall  Terrace,  and  the  servant  informed  me 
at  the  door  that  the  physicians  had  forbidden  Mr. 
Gladstone  to  see  any  one.  I  handed  in  my  card, 
and  said  to  the  servant:  "I  leave  for  America  to- 
morrow, and  only  called  to  say  good-bye  to  Mr. 
Gladstone."  He  overheard  my  voice  (not  one  of 
the  feeblest),  and,  coming  out  into  the  hall,  greeted 
me  most  warmly,  but  in  a  voice  almost  inaudible 
from  hoarseness.  I  told  him:  "Do  not  attempt  to 
speak,  Mr.  Gladstone ;  the  future  of  the  British  Em- 
pire depends  upon  your  throat."  He  hoarsely  whis- 
pered :  "No,  no,  my  friend,  it  does  not,"  and  with  a 
very  hearty  handshake  we  parted.  My  prediction 
came  true.  Within  a  year  the  marvelous  old  man 
had  recovered  his  voice,  recovered  his  popularity,  re- 
sumed the  Liberal  leadership,  and  for  the  fourth 
time  was  Prime  Minister  of  Great  Britain. 

I  supposed  that  I  should  never  see  the  veteran 
statesman  again,  but  four  years  afterward,  in  July, 
1889,  he  kindly  invited  me  to  come  and  see  him,  and 
to  bring  my  wife.  It  was  the  week  before  the  cele- 
bration of  his  golden  wedding.  He  was  occupying, 
temporarily,  a  house  near  Buckingham  Palace. 


104       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

Mrs.  Gladstone,  the  good  angel  of  his  long  life  and 
happy  home,  received  us  warmly,  and,  bringing  out 
a  lot  of  photographs  of  her  children  and  grandchil- 
dren, gave  us  a  family  talk.  When  her  husband 
came  in,  I  was  startled  to  observe  how  much  thinner 
he  had  become  and  how  loosely  his  clothes  hung 
upon  him.  But  as  soon  as  he  began  to  talk,  the  old 
fire  flamed  up,  and  he  discoursed  eloquently  about 
Irish  Home-Rule,  the  divorce  question,  (one  of  his 
hobbies),  and  the  dangers  that  threatened  America 
from  plutocracy  and  laxity  of  wedlock,  and  the  fa- 
cilities of  divorce  that  sap  the  sanctities  of  domestic 
life.  It  was  during  that  conversation  that  Gladstone 
uttered  the  sentence  that  I  have  often  had  occasion 
to  quote.  He  said :  "Amid  all  the  pressure  of  public 
cares  and  duties,  I  thank  God  for  the  Sabbath  with 
its  rest  for  the  body  and  the  soul"  One  reason  for 
his  wonderful  longevity  was  that  he  had  never 
robbed  his  brain  of  the  benefits  of  God's  appointed 
day  of  rest.  After  our  delightful  talk  was  ended, 
the  Grand  Old  Man  went  off  in  pursuit  of  an  im- 
perial photograph,  which  he  kindly  signed  with  his 
autograph,  and  gave  to  my  wife,  and  it  now  graces 
the  walls  of  the  room  in  which  I  am  writing. 

Many  men  have  been  great  in  some  direction: 
William  Ewart  Gladstone  was  great  in  nearly  all 
directions.  Born  in  the  same  year  with  our  Lincoln, 
he  was  a  great  muscular  man  and  horseman  ;  a  great 


SOME  FAMOUS  PEOPLE  ABROAD.  105 

orator,  a  great  political  strategist,  a  great  scholar, 
a  great  writer,  great  statesman  and  a  great  Chris- 
tian. The  crowning  glory  of  his  character  was  a 
stalwart  faith  in  God's  Word,  and  in  the  cross  of 
Jesus  Christ.  He  honored  his  Lord,  and  his  Lord 
honored  him.  Wordsworth  drew  a  truthful  picture 
of  Gladstone  when  he  portrayed 

"The  man  who  lifted  high 
Conspicuous  object  in  a  nation's  eye, 
Who,  with  a  toward  or  untoward  lot, 
Prosperous  or  adverse,  to    his  wish  or  not, 
Plays  in  the  many  games  of  life,  that  one 
Where  what  he  most  doth  value  must  be  won; 
Whom  neither  shape  of  danger  can  dismay, 
Nor  thought  of  tender  happiness  betray; 
And  while  the  mortal  mist  is  gathering,  draws 
His  breath  in  confidence  of  Heaven's  applause." 

Who  has  not  wept  over  the  brilliant  and  beloved 
Dr.  John  Brown's  unrivaled  story,  "Rab  and  His 
Friends,"  and  been  charmed  with  his  picture  of  "Pet 
Marjorie"  ?  What  student  of  style  will  deny  that  his 
"Monograph"  of  his  father  is  the  finest  specimen 
of  condensed  and  vivid  biography  in  our  language  ? 
When  his  "Spare  Hours"  appeared  in  America  I 
published  an  article  in  the  "Independent"  entitled, 
"The  Last  of  the  John  Browns,"  several  copies  of 
which  had  been  forwarded  to  him  by  his  friends  in 
this  country.  On  my  arrival  in  Edinburgh,  July, 


io6      RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

1862,  he  called  on  me  at  the  Waverly  Hotel  and  in- 
vited me  to  breakfast  with  him.  He  had  the  fair 
Saxon  features  of  Scotland,  with  a  smile  like  a  Sum- 
mer morning.  Not  tall  in  stature,  his  head  was 
somewhat  bald,  and  he  bore  a  striking  resemblance 
to  our  ex- President,  Van  Buren.  He  showed  me  in 
his  house  some  choice  literary  treasures;  among 
them  a  little  Greek  Testament,  given  to  his  great- 
grandfather, the  famous  John.  Brown,  of  Hadding- 
ton,  the  eminent  commentator.  Its  history  was  curi- 
ous: Brown  of,  Haddington,  was  a  poor  shepherd 
boy,  and  once  he  walked  twenty  miles  through  the 
night  to  St.  Andrews  to  get  a  copy  of  the  Greek  Tes- 
tament. The  book-seller  at  first  laughed  at  him  and 
said :  "Boy,  if  you  can  read  a  verse  in  this  book,  you 
may  have  it."  Forthwith  the  lad  read  the  verse  off 
glibly,  and  was  permitted  to  carry  off  the  Testa- 
ment in  triumph.  You  may  well  suppose  that  the 
little  volume  is  a  sacred  heirloom  in  the  Brown 
family,  which  for  four  generations  has  been  famous. 
Of  course,  the  author  of  "Rab  and  His  Friends"  had 
several  pictures  of  the  illustrious  dog  that  figured 
in  his  beautiful  story,  and  I  noticed  a  pet  spaniel 
lying  on  the  sofa  in  the  drawing  room.  A  day  or 
two  after,  Dr.  Brown  called  on  me,  and  kindly  took 
me  on  a  drive  with  him  through  Edinburgh ;  and  it 
was  pleasant  to  see  how  the  people  on  the  sidewalk 
had  cheery  salutes  for  the  author  of  "Rab"  as  he 


SOME  FAMOUS  PEOPLE  ABROAD.          107 

rode  by.  We  went  up  to  Calton  Hill  and  made  a 
call  on  Sir  George  Harvey,  the  famous  artist,  whom 
we  found  in  his  studio,  with  brush  in  hand,  and 
working  on  an  Highland  landscape.  Sir  George 
was  a  hearty  old  fellow,  and  the  two  friends  had 
a  merry  "crack"  together.  When  I  asked  Harvey 
if  he  had  seen  any  of  our  best  American  paintings, 
he  replied  "No,  I  have  not ;  the  best  American  pro- 
ductions I  have  ever  seen  have  been  some  of  your 
missionaries.  I  met  some  of  them ;  they  were  noble 
characters."  On  our  return  from  the  drive  Dr. 
Brown  gave  me  an  elegant  edition  of  "Rab,"  with 
Harvey's  portrait  of  the  immortal  dog,  whose  body 
was  thickset  like  a  little  bull,  and  who  had  "fought 
his  way  to  absolute  supremacy, — like  Julius  Caesar 
or  the  Duke  of  Wellington." 

When  in  Edinburgh  ten  years  afterwards,  as  a 
delegate  to  the  Genera!  Assemblies,  I  was  so  con- 
stantly occupied  that  I  was  able  to  see  but  little  of 
my  genial  friend,  Dr.  Brown.  I  sent  him  a  copy  of 
the  little  book,  "The  Empty  Crib,"  which  had  been 
recently  published,  and  received  from  him  the  fol- 
lowing characteristic  reply: 

25  RUTLAND  STREET, 
EDINBURGH,  May  25,  1872. 
My  Dear  Dr.  Cuyler: 

Very  many  thanks  for  your  kind  note,  and  the  little 
book.  It  will  be  my  own  fault  if  I  am  not  the  better  for 


108       RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

reading  it.  I  have  seen  nothing  lovelier  or  more  touching 
than  the  pictures  of  those  twin  heads  "like  unto  the  angels" ; 
even  there  Georgie  looks  nearer  the  better  world  than  his 
brother.  There  is  something  perilous  about  his  eyes  with 
their  wistful  beauty.  With  him  "it  is  far  better"  now,  and 
may  it  be  meet  for  Theodore  to  be  long  with  you  here.  I 
hoped  to  leave  with  you  a  book  of  my  father's  on  the  same 
subject,  entitled,  "Comfortable  Words,"  but  it  is  out  of 
print.  If  I  can  get  a  copy,  I  will  send  it  you.  There  are 
some  letters  of  Bengel's  which,  if  you  do  not  know,  you 
will  enjoy. 

I  send  you  a  note  of  introduction  to  John  Ruskin,  and 
I  hope  to  hear  you  to-morrow  in  Mr.  Candlish's  church. 

With  much  regret  and  best  thanks,  yours  very  truly, 

JOHN  BROWN. 

P.  S.  I  was  in  Glen-Garry  the  other  week,  and  quite 
felt  that  look  of  nakedness,  and  as  if  it  just  came  from  the 
Maker's  hand;  it  was  very  impressive. 

During  the  closing  years  of  the  Doctor's  life  he 
was  often  shadowed  by  fits  of  deep  melancholy.  One 
day  he  was  walking  with  a  lady,  who  was  also  sub- 
ject to  depression  of  spirits,  and  he  said  to  her: 
"Tell  me  why  I  am  like  a  Jew?"  She  could  not 
answer  and  he  replied:  "Because  I  am  sad-you- 
see."  Tears  and  mirth  dwelt  very  closely  together 
in  his  keen,  fervid,  sensitive  spirit.  It  is  remarkable 
that  one  who  devoted  himself  so  assiduously  to  his 
exacting  profession  should  have  been  able  to  master 
such  an  immense  amount  of  miscellaneous  reading, 
and  to  have  won  such  a  splendid  name  in  literature. 


SOME  FAMOUS  PEOPLE  ABROAD.          109 

It  is  the  attribute  of  true  genius  that  it  can  do  great 
things  easily,  and  can  accomplish  its  feats  in  an  in- 
credibly short  time.  He  affirms  that  the  immortal 
story  of  "Rab"  was  written  in  a  few  hours!  The 
precious  relics  of  my  friend  that  I  now  possess  are 
portraits  of  his  father  and  of  Dr.  Chalmers,  and  of 
Hugh  Miller,  which  he  presented  to  me,  and  which 
now  adorn  my  study  walls. 

While  I  have  always  dissented  from  some  of  his 
theological  views  and  utterances,  I  have  always  had 
an  intense  admiration  for  Dean  Stanley,  in  whose 
character  was  blended  the  gentleness  of  a  sweet 
girl  with  occasional  display  of  the  courage  of  a  lion. 
Froude  once  said  to  me :  "I  wish  that  Stanley  was  a 
little  better  hater."  My  reply  was:  "It  is  not  in 
Stanley  to  hate  anybody  but  the  devil."  My  acquaint- 
ance with  the  Dean  of  Westminster  dates  from  the 
summer  of  1872.  The  Rev.  Samuel  Minton,  a  very 
broad  Church  of  England  clergyman,  was  in  the 
habit  of  inviting  ministers  of  the  Established  church 
and  non-conformists  to  meet  at  lunch  parties  with  a 
view  of  bringing  them  to  a  better  understanding. 
One  day  I  was  invited  by  Mr.  Minton  to  attend  one 
of  these  lunch  parties,  and  I  found  that  day  at  his 
table,  Dr.  Donald  Frazer,  Dr.  Newman  Hall,  Dr. 
Joseph  Parker,  Dean  Stanley  and  Dr.  Howard 
Wilkinson,  afterwards  Bishop  of  Truro.  Stanley 
felt  perfectly  at  home  among  these  "dissenters,"  and 


no     RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

asked  me  to  give  the  company  some  account  of  a  re- 
markable discourse,  which,  he  was  told,  Bishop  Mc- 
Ilvaine,  of  Ohio,  had  recently  delivered  in  my  La- 
fayette Presbyterian  Church,  Brooklyn,  on  "Chris- 
tian Unity."  In  the  discourse,  Bishop  Mcllvaine 
had  said :  "The  only  difference  between  the  Presby- 
terian denomination,  and  Episcopal  denomination,  is 
their  difference  as  to  the  orders  of  the  ministry." 
The  Dean  was  delighted  with  my  account,  and  said : 
"Just  imagine  the  Bishop  of  London  preaching 
such  a  sermon  in  Newman  Hall's  or  Spurgeon's  pul- 
pit; it  would  rock  the  old  dome  of  St.  Paul's."  In 
all  of  his  intercourse  with  his  dissenting  brethren  the 
Dean  never  put  on  any  airs  of  patronage,  for  though 
a  loyal  Episcopalian,  he  recognized  their  equally  di- 
vine ordination  as  ministers  of  Jesus  Christ. 

A  few  days  afterwards  I  went  up  to  get  a  look  at 
Holly  Lodge,  the  residence  of  Lord  Macaulay,  in  a 
side  street  just  off  Campden  Hill.  I  met  the  Dean 
just  coming  out  of  the  gate.  He  had  been  attend- 
ing a  garden  party  given  by  Lord  Airlie,  who  then 
occupied  the  lodge.  It  was  a  pleasant  coincidence 
to  meet  the  most  brilliant  ecclesiastical  historian  at 
the  door  of  the  most  brilliant  civil  historian  of  Eng- 
land. The  Dean  stopped  and  chatted  about  Macau- 
lay,  of  whom  he  was  very  fond,  and  then  said :  "Just 
beyond  is  Holland  House."  We  went  a  few  paces 
and  got  a  glimpse  of  the  famous  mansion  in  which 


SOME  FAMOUS  PEOPLE  ABROAD.          in 

Lord  Holland  had  entertained  the  celebrities  of 
America  and  Europe.  One  of  the  best  hours  I  ever 
spent  with  Stanley  was  at  his  own  table  in  the  Dean- 
ery. He  was  the  most  delightful  of  hosts.  Lady 
Augusta  Stanley,  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Elgin, 
had  been  a  favorite  Maid  of  Honor  to  the  Queen, 
and  the  Dean  had  accompanied  the  Prince  of  Wales 
on  his  tour  to  the  Orient.  The  Queen  quite  fre- 
quently slipped  away  from  the  palace  for  a  quiet 
chat  at  the  Deanery  with  this  pair  whom  she  so 
loved.  A  marble  bust  of  Victoria,  by  her  daughter, 
the  Princess  Louise,  stood  in  the  parlor,  a  gift  of  the 
Queen.  If  the  Dean  was  very  broad  in  his  theology, 
his  cultured  wife  was  as  decidedly  evangelical  in 
hers  and  her  religious  influence  was  very  tonic  in  all 
respects.  After  lunch  that  day  the  Dean  very  kind- 
ly took  me  into  the  famous  Jerusalem  chamber  and 
showed  me  where  the  Westminster  Assembly  had 
sat  for  six  years  to  give  birth  to  our  Presbyterian 
Confession  of  Faith  and  Catechism.  I  was  sur- 
prised at  the  small  size  of  the  room  that  had  held 
seventy  or  eighty  commissioners. 

As  I  was  very  desirous  of  hearing  the  Dean 
preach  in  the  Abbey,  he  sent  me  a  very  kind  invita- 
tion to  come  on  the  next  Sabbath  to  the  Deanery  be- 
fore the  service,  and  on  account  of  my  deafness 
Lady  Augusta  would  take  me  into  a  seat  close  to  his 
pulpit.  Accordingly  she  stowed  me  in  a  small  box- 


112       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

pew,  which  was  close  against  the  pulpit,  and  within 
arms'  length  of  the  Dean.  His  sermon  was  a  beau- 
tiful essay  on  Solomon  and  great  men,  and  in  the 
course  of  it  he  said :  "Such  was  the  greatness  of  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ."  I  felt  so  pained  by  what  he 
did  not  say  that  I  ventured  to  write  him  a  most 
frank  and  loving  note,  in  which  I  expressed  my  deep 
regret  that  when  he  referred  to  the  "greatness"  of 
our  Saviour  he  had  so  entirely  ignored  what  was 
infinitely  His  most  sublime  work, — that  of  our  hu- 
man redemption  by  His  atoning  death  on  Calvary. 
The  dear  Dean,  instead  of  taking  offense,  accepted 
the  frank  letter  in  the  same  spirit  in  which  it  was 
written.  A  day  or  two  after  he  sent  me  a  charac- 
teristic note,  whose  peculiar  hieroglyphics,  after 
much  labor,  I  was  able  to  decipher;  for  it  has  been 
often  said  that  the  only  reason  why  he  was  never 
made  a  bishop  was  that  no  clergyman  in  his  diocese 
would  ever  have  been  able  to  read  his  letters. 

THE  DEANERY  OF  WESTMINSTER, 

July  22,  1872. 

DEAR  DOCTOR: — Pray  accept  my  sincere  thanks  for  your 
very  kind  note.  I  quite  appreciate  your  candor  in  men- 
tioning what  you  thought  a  defect  in  my  sermon.  It  arose 
from  a  fixed  conviction  which  I  have  long  formed,  that 
the  only  chance  there  is  of  my  sermons  doing  any  good  is 
by  taking  one  topic  at  a  time.  The  effect  and  the  nature 
of  the  death  of  Jesus  Christ,  I  quite  agree  with  you  in 
thinking  to  be  a  most  important  part  of  the  Christian  doc- 


SOME  FAMOUS  PEOPLE  ABROAD.          113 

trine,  and  Christian  history.  But  as  my  sermon  was  on  a 
different  subject — that  of  the  right  use  of  greatness — I  felt 
that  I  could  not  speak,  even  by  way  of  allusion,  to  the 
other  great  doctrine  on  which  I  had  often  preached  before. 

I  sincerely  wish  that  I  could  come  to  America.  Every 
year  that  passes  increases  the  number  of  my  kind  friends 
in  the  New  World,  and  my  desire  to  see  the  United  States. 

Farewell ;  and  may  all  the  blessings  of  our  State  and 
Church  follow  you  westward. 

Yours  faithfully, 

A.   P.  STANLEY. 

When  Dean  Stanley  visited  America  in  the  au- 
tumn of  1878,  I  met  him  several  times,  and  he  was 
especially  cordial,  and  all  the  more  so  because  of 
my  out-spoken  letter.  The  first  time  I  met  him  was 
at  the  meeting  of  ministers  of  New  York  to  give  him 
a  reception,  and  hear  him  deliver  a  discourse  on  Dr. 
Robinson,  the  Oriental  geographer.  He  recognized 
me  in  the  audience,  came  forward  to  the  front  of 
the  platform,  beckoned  me  up,  and  gave  me  a  hearty 
grasp  of  the  hand.  I  arranged  to  take  him  to  Green- 
wood Cemetery  on  the  morning  before  he  sailed  for 
home,  and  after  breakfasting  with  him  at  Cyrus 
W.  Field's  we  started  for  the  cemetery.  Dr.  Phillip 
SchafT  and  Dr.  Henry  M.  Field  met  us  at  the  ferry, 
and  accompanied  us.  When  we  entered  the  elevated 
railroad  car,  Stanley  exclaimed :  "This  is  like  the 
chariots  on  the  walls  of  Babylon."  With  his  keen 
interest  in  history  he  inquired  when  we  reached  the 


ii4      RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

lower  part  of  the  Bowery,  near  the  junction  of  Chat- 
ham Square:  "Was  it  not  near  here  that  Nathan 
Hale,  the  martyr,  was  executed?"  and  he  showed 
then  a  more  accurate  knowledge  of  our  local  history 
than  one  New  Yorker  in  ten  thousand  can  boast! 
That  was  probably  the  exact  locality,  and  Dean 
Stanley  had  never  been  there  before.  Before  en- 
tering the  Greenwood  Cemetery  he  requested  me  to 
drive  him  to  the  spot  where  my  little  child  was  bur- 
ied, whose  photograph  in  "The  Empty  Crib"  I  have 
referred  to  in  a  previous  chapter.  When  we  reached 
the  burial  lot  he  got  out  of  the  carriage,  and  in  the 
driving  wind,  of  a  raw  November  morning,  spent 
some  time  in  examining  the  marble  medallion  of 
the  child,  and  in  talking  with  my  wife  most  sweetly 
about  him.  I  could  have  hugged  the  man  on  the 
spot.  It  was  so  like  Stanley.  I  do  not  wonder  that 
everybody  loved  him.  We  then  drove  to  the  tomb  of 
Dr.  Edward  Robinson  and  the  Dean  said  to  us :  "In 
all  my  travels  in  Palestine  I  carried  Dr.  Robinson's 
volume,  'Biblical  Researches,'  with  me  on  horse- 
back or  on  my  camel;  it  was  my  constant  guide 
book." 

Three  years  afterward,  on  my  arrival  in  Lon- 
don, from  Palestine  I  learned  that  Stanley  was  dan- 
gerously ill.  On  the  door  of  the  Deanery  a  bulletin 
was  posted :  "The  Dean  is  sinking."  That  night  the 
good,  great  man,  died.  On  the  25th  of  July  the  au- 


SOME  FAMOUS  PEOPLE  ABROAD.  115 

gust  funeral  service  took  place  in  Westminster  Ab- 
bey. Outside  the  Abbey  thousands  of  people  were 
assembled,  for  the  Dean  was  loved  by  all  London. 
From  a  small  gallery  over  the  "Poets'  Corner"  I 
looked  down  on  the  group,  which  contained  Glad- 
stone, Shaftesbury,  Matthew  Arnold,  and  scores  of 
England's  mightiest  and  best.  After  the  "Dead 
March,"  began  a  long  procession  headed  by  Stanley's 
lifelong  friend,  Archbishop  Tait,  of  Canterbury, 
and  the  Prince  of  Wales  (his  pupil),  and  fol- 
lowed by  Browning,  Tyndall,  and  a  long  line  of 
bishops,  and  poets  and  scholars  moved  slowly  along 
under  the  lofty  arches  to  the  tomb  in  Henry  VII. 's 
Chapel.  A  fresh  wreath  of  flowers  from  the  Queen 
was  laid  on  the  coffin.  Many  a  tear  was  shed  on 
that  sad  day  beside  the  tomb  in  which  the  Church 
of  England  laid  her  most  fearless  and  yet  her  best 
beloved  son.  I  never  have  visited  the  Abbey  since, 
without  halting  for  a  few  moments  beside  the  chapel 
in  which  the  Dean  and  his  beloved  wife  are  slumber- 
ing. Greater  than  all  his  books  or  literary  achieve- 
ments was  Arthur  Penryn  Stanley,  the  modest, 
true-hearted,  unselfish,  childlike,  Christian  man. 

Soon  after  I  had  begun  my  pastorate  in  New 
York,  I  became  a  member  of  the  Young  Men's 
Christian  Association,  which  was  one  of  the  first 
that  was  organized  in  this  country.  Since  that 
time  I  have  delivered  more  than  one  hundred  ad- 


ii6       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

dresses,  in  behalf  of  this  institution,  in  my  own  coun- 
try and  abroad.  In  June,  1857,  the  New  York  or- 
ganization honored  me  with  what  was  then  a  nov- 
elty in  America — a  public  breakfast,  and  commis- 
sioned me  as  a  delegate  to  the  original  parent  as- 
sociation in  London.  I  there  met  that  remarkable 
Christian  merchant,  Mr.  George  Williams,  who  was 
the  founder  of  the  Association,  and  who  had  got 
much  of  his  first  spiritual  inspiration  from  reading 
the  writings  of  our  American,  Charles  G.  Finney. 
He  is  now  Sir  George  Williams,  my  much  loved 
friend,  and  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that  there  is  not 
another  man  living  who  has  accomplished  such  a 
world-wide  work  for  the  glory  of  God  and  the  wel- 
fare of  young  men.  The  President  of  that  first  or- 
ganized London  Association  was  the  celebrated  phil- 
anthropist, the  Earl  of  Shaftesbury,  a  man  whom 
I  had  long  desired  to  meet.  My  acquaintance  with 
him  began  in  Exeter  Hall,  at  a  Sabbath  service  held 
to  reach  the  non-church  going  classes.  With  one  or 
two  others  we  knelt  together  in  a  small  side  room 
to  invoke  a  blessing  on  the  service  in  the  great  hall, 
and  he  prayed  most  fervently.  The  Earl  of  Shaftes- 
bury was  not  only  the  author  of  great  reformatory 
legislation  in  Parliament,  and  the  acknowledged 
leader  of  the  Low  Church  Party  in  the  Established 
Church.  He  was  also  a  leader  of  city  missions,  rag- 
ged schools,  shoe-black  brigades,  and  other  organ- 


SOME  FAMOUS  PEOPLE  ABROAD.          117 

izations  to  benefit  the  submerged  classes  in  London. 
He  once  invited  all  the  thieves  in  London  to  meet 
him  privately  in  a  certain  hall,  and  there  pleaded 
with  them  to  abandon  their  wretched  occupation, 
and  promised  to  aid  those  who  desired  to  reform. 
He  was  fond  of  telling  the  story  of  how,  when  his 
watch  was  stolen,  the  thieves  themselves  compelled 
the  rascal  to  come  and  return  it,  because  he  had 
been  the  benefactor  of  the  "long-fingered  frater- 
nity." The  last  time  that  I  saw  the  venerable  phil- 
anthropist was  just  before  his  death  (at  the  age  of 
eighty- four  years).  He  was  presiding  at  a  con- 
vention of  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association 
in  Exeter  Hall.  In  my  speech  I  said:  "To-day  I 
have  seen  Milton's  Mulberry  Tree  at  Cambridge 
University,  and  the  historic  old  tree  is  kept  alive 
by  being  banked  around  with  earth  clear  to  its 
boughs ;  and  so  is  all  Christendom  banking  around 
our  honored  President  to-night  to  keep  him  warm 
and  hale,  and  strong,  amid  the  frosts  of  advancing 
age."  The  grand  old  man  rewarded  me  with  a  bow 
and  a  gracious  smile,  and  the  audience  responded 
with  a  shout  of  appreciation. 


CHAPTER  X 


SOME  FAMOUS  PEOPLE  AT  HOME. 

Irving. — Whittier. — Webster. — Greeley,   etc. 

WASHINGTON  IRVING  has  fairly  earned  the  title 
of  the  "Father  of  our  American  Literature."  The 
profound  philosophical  and  spiritual  treatises  of  our 
great  President  Edwards  had  secured  a  reading  by 
theologians  and  deep  thinkers  abroad;  but  the 
American  who  first  caught  the  popular  ear  was  the 
man  who  wrote  "The  Sketch  Book,"  and  made  the 
name  of  "Knickerbocker"  almost  as  familiar  as  Sir 
Walter  Scott  made  the  name  of  "Waverley."  During 
the  summer  of  1856  I  received  a  cordial  invitation 
from  the  people  of  Tarry  town  to  come  up  to  join 
them  in  an  annual  "outing,"  with  their  children, 
on  board  of  a  steamer  on  the  Tappan-Zee.  I  ac- 
cepted the  invitation,  and  on  arrival  found  the  boat 
already  filled  with  the  good  people,  and  two  or 
three  hundreds  of  scholars  from  the  Sabbath  schools. 

To  my  surprise  and  delight  I  found  Washington 
118 


SOME  FAMOUS  PEOPLE  AT  HOME.         119 

Irving  on  board  the  steamer.  The  veteran  author 
had  laid  aside  the  fourth  volume  of  the  "Life  of 
Washington,"  which  he  was  just  preparing,  to  come 
away  for  a  bit  of  rest  and  recreation.  I  had  never 
seen  him  before,  but  found  him  precisely  the  type  of 
man  that  I  had  expected.  He  was  short,  rather 
stout,  and  attired  in  an  old  fashioned  black  sum- 
mer dress,  with  "pumps"  and  white  stockings,  and 
a  broad  Panama  hat.  As  he  was  no  novelty  to  his 
neighbors  I  was  able  to  secure  more  of  his  time; 
and,  like  the  apostle  of  old,  I  was  exceedingly 
"filled  with  his  company."  He  took  me  to  the  up- 
per deck  of  the  steamer,  and  pointed  out  a  glimpse  of 
his  own  home — "Sunnyside" — which  he  told  me 
was  the  original  of  Baltus  Van  Tassel's  homestead 
in  the  "Legend  of  Sleepy  Hollow."  He  pointed  out 
the  route  of  poor  Ichabod  Crane  on  his  memorable 
night  ride  up  the  valley,  and  so  on  to  the 
Kakout,  where  his  horse  should  have  gone 
to  reach  "Sleepy  Hollow."  Instead  of  that, 
obstinate  Gunpowder  plunged  down  over  that 
bridge  where  poor  Ichabod  encountered  his  fatal 
and  final  catastrophe.  The  good  old  man's  face  was 
full  of  fun  as  he  told  me  the  story.  Irving  was  so 
exceedingly  shy  that  he  never  could  face  any  public 
ovation,  and  yet  he  had  a  great  deal  of  quiet  enjoy- 
ment of  his  own  popularity.  For  example,  one  day 
when  he  was  going  with  a  young  relative  up  Broad- 


120       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

way,  which  was  thronged  with  omnibuses,  he  point- 
ed out  one  of  the  old  "Knickerbocker"  line  of  stages 
to  the  lad  and  said:  "Billy,  you  see  how  many 
coaches  I  own  in  this  city,  and  you  may  take  as 
many  rides  in  them  as  you  like." 

After  refreshments  had  been  served  to  all  the 
guests  on  board,  we  gathered  on  the  deck  for  the  in- 
evitable American  practice  of  speech  making.  In 
the  course  of  my  speech  I  gave  an  account  of  what 
was  being  done  for  poor  children  in  the  slums  of 
New  York,  and  then  introduced  as  many  Dutch 
stories  as  I  could  recollect  for  the  special  edifica- 
tion of  old  "Geoffrey  Crayon."  As  I  watched  his 
countenance,  and  heard  his  hearty  laughter  and  saw 
sometimes  the  peculiar  quizzical  expression  of  his 
mouth,  I  fancied  that  I  knew  precisely  how  he 
looked  when  he  drew  the  inimitable  pictures  of 
Ichabod  Crane,  and  Rip  Van  Winkle.  When  the  ex- 
cursion ended,  and  we  drew  up  to  the  shore,  I  bade 
him  a  very  grateful  and  affectionate  farewell,  and 
my  readers,  I  hope,  will  pardon  me  if  I  say  to  them 
that  dear  old  Irving  whispered  quietly  in  my  ear,  "I 
should  like  to  be  one  of  your  parishioners."  Three 
years  afterwards,  Irving  was  borne  by  his  neigh- 
bors at  Tarrytown  to  his  final  resting  place  in  the 
old  Dutch  churchyard  at  the  entrance  of  Sleepy 
Hollow. 

Twenty  years  afterwards  my  dear  friend,  Mr. 


SOME  FAMOUS  PEOPLE  AT  HOME.         121 

William  E.  Dodge,  drove  me  up  from  his  summer 
house  at  Tarrytown  to  see  the  simple  tomb  of  the 
good  old  Geoffrey  Crayon,  whose  genius  has  glad- 
dened innumerable  admirers,  and  whose  writings 
are  as  pure  as  the  rivulet  which  now  flows  by  his 
resting  place. 

The  pleasant  little  town  of  Burlington,  N.  J.,  in 
which  I  spent  my  earliest  ministry,  was  the  head- 
quarters of  orthodox  Quakers.  I  was  thrown 
much  into  the  society  of  their  most  eminent  people, 
and  very  delightful  society  I  found  it.  The  ven- 
erable Stephen  Grellet,  their  apostle,  who  had  held 
many  interviews  with  the  crowned  heads  of  Europe, 
resided  a  little  way  from  me  up  the  street ;  and  I  saw 
the  good  old  man  with  broad  brimmed  hat  and 
straight  coat  pass  my  window  every  day.  Richard 
Mott  lived  but  a  little  way  from  the  town,  and  on 
the  other  side  resided  the  widow  of  the  celebrated 
Joseph  John  Gurney.  The  wittiest  Quaker  in  the 
town  was  my  neighbor,  William  J.  Allinson,  the  ed- 
itor of  the  "Friends  Review,"  and  an  intimate  friend 
of  John  G.  Whittier.  One  afternoon  he  ran  over  to 
my  room,  and  said:  "Friend  Theodore,  John  G. 
Whittier  is  at  my  house,  and  wants  to  see  thee ;  he 
leaves  early  in  the  morning."  I  hastened  across  the 
street  and,  in  the  modest  parlor  of  Friend  Allinson, 
I  saw,  standing  before  the  fire,  a  tall,  slender  man 
in  Quaker  dress,  with  a  very  lofty  brow,  and  the 


132      RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

finest  eye  I  have  ever  seen  in  any  American,  unless 
it  were  the  deep  ox-like  eye  of  Abraham  Lincoln. 
We  had  a  pleasant  chat  about  the  anti-slavery,  tem- 
perance and  other  moral  reforms ;  and  I  went  home 
with  something  of  the  feeling  that  Walter  Scott 
says  he  had  after  seeing  "Rabbie  Burns."  Whit- 
tier  was  a  retiring,  home-keeping  man.  He  never 
crossed  the  ocean  and  seldom  went  even  outside  of 
his  native  home  in  Massachusetts.  During  the 
summer  of  1870  he  ventured  down  to  Brooklyn 
on  a  visit  to  his  friend,  Colonel  Julian  Allen.  On 
coming  home  one  day,  my  servant  said  to  me, 
"There  was  a  tall  Quaker  gentleman  called  here, 
and  left  his  name  on  this  piece  of  paper."  I  was 
quite  dumb- founded  to  read  the  name  of  "John  G. 
Whittier,"  and  I  lost  no  time  in  making  my  way 
up  to  the  house  where  he  was  staying.  When  I  in- 
quired how  he  had  come  to  do  me  the  honor  of  a 
call,  he  said :  "Well,  yesterday,  when  I  arrived  and 
my  friend  Allen  drove  me  up  here,  we  passed  a 
meeting  house  with  a  tall  steeple,  and  when  I  heard 
it  was  thine,  I  determined  to  run  down  to  thy  house 
and  see  thee."  As  I  was  to  have  the  "Chi  Alpha," 
the  oldest  and  the  most  celebrated  clerical  associa- 
tion of  New  York  at  my  house  the  next  afternoon,  I 
invited  him  to  come  and  sup  with  them.  He  cor- 
dially consented,  and  it  may  be  supposed  that  the 
"Chi  Alpha"  was  very  glad  to  put  aside  for  that 


SOME  FAMOUS  PEOPLE  AT  HOME.         123 

evening  all  other  matters,  and  listen  to  the  fresh, 
racy  and  humorous  talk  of  the  great  poet.  Under- 
neath his  grave  and  shy  sobriety,  flowed  a  most  gen- 
tle humor.  He  could  tell  a  good  story,  and  when 
he  was  describing  the  usages  of  the  Quakers  in  re- 
gard to  "Speaking  in  Meetings,"  he  told  us  that 
sometimes  the  voluntary  remarks  were  not  quite  to 
the  edification  of  the  meeting.  It  once  happened 

that  a  certain  George  C. grew  rather  wearisome 

in  his  exhortations,  and  his  prudent  brethren,  after 
solemn  consultation,  passed  the  following  resolu- 
tion: "It  is  the  sense  of  this  meeting  that  George 

C. be  advised  to  remain  silent,  until  such  time 

as  the  Lord  shall  speak  through  him  more  to  our 
satisfaction  and  profit."  A  resolution  of  that  kind 
would  not  be  out  of  place  in  some  ecclesiastical  as- 
semblies, nor  in  certain  prayer  gatherings  that  I 
wot  of.  After  the  circle  broke  up  I  told 
him  that  in  addition  to  the  kind  and  char- 
acter* '•ic  letters  he  had  written  to  me  I  wanted 
a  scrap  of  his  poetry  to  add  to  those  which  Bryant 
and  others  had  contributed  to  my  collection  of  auto- 
graphs. "What  shall  it  be?"  he  said.  I  told  him 
that,  while  some  of  his  hymns  and  devoutly  spiritual 
pieces,  like  "My  soul  and  I,"  were  very  dear  to  me, 
and  while  "Snow  Bound"  was  his  acknowledged 
masterpiece,  yet  none  of  his  verses  did  I  oftener 
quote  than  this  one,  in  his  poem  on  Massachusetts. 


124      RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

He   smiled  at  the   selection,   and  accordingly   sat 
down  and  wrote : 

"She  heeds  no  skeptic's  puny  hands, 

While  near  the  school  the  church-spire  stands, 

Nor  fears  the  bigot's  blinded  rule, 

While  near  the  church-spire  stands  the  school." 

Our  walk  to  his  place  of  sojourn  in  the  moon- 
light was  very  delightful.  On  the  way  I  told  him 
that  not  long  before,  when  I  quoted  a  verse  of  Bry- 
ant's to  Horace  Greeley,  Mr.  Greeley  replied :  "Bry- 
ant is  all  very  well,  but  by  far  the  greatest  poet  this 
country  has  produced  is  John  Greenleaf  Whittier." 
"Did  our  friend  Horace  say  that?"  meekly  inquired 
Whittier,  and  a  smile  of  satisfaction  flowed  over 
his  Quaker  countenance.  The  man  is  not  born  yet 
who  does  not  like  an  honest  compliment,  especially 
if  it  comes  from  a  high  quarter.  In  the  course  of 
my  life  I  have  received  several  very  pleasant  letters 
from  my  venerable  friend,  the  Quaker  poet;  but 
immediately  after  his  eightieth  birthday  he  ad- 
dressed me  the  following  letter,  which,  believing  it 
to  be  his  last,  I  framed  and  hung  on  the  walls  of 
my  library : 

OAK  KNOLL, 
I2th  month,  I7th,  1887. 
My  dear  Dr.  'Cuyler, 

I  thank  thee  for  thy  loving  letter  to  me  on  my  birthday, 
which  I  would  have  answered  immediately  but  for  illness ; 


SOME  FAMOUS  PEOPLE  AT  HOME.         125 

and,  my  friend,  I  wish  I  was  more  worthy  of  the  kind  and 
good  things  said  of  me.  But  my  prayer  is,  "God  be  Merci- 
ful to  me."  And  I  think  my  prayer  will  be  answered,  for 
His  Mercy  and  His  Justice  are  one.  May  the  Lord  bless 
thee.  Thy  friend  sincerely, 

JOHN  G.  WHITTIER. 

This  note,  so  redolent  of  humility,  was  written  a 
few  days  after  he  had  received  a  most  superb  birth- 
day ovation  from  the  public  men  of  Massachusetts, 
and  from  the  most  eminent  literary  men  in  all  parts 
of  the  nation. 

In  the  days  of  my  boyhood  the  most  colossal  fig- 
ure, physically  and  intellectually,  in  American  pol- 
itics, was  Daniel  Webster.  I  well  remember  when 
I  first  put  eye  upon  him.  It  was  when  I  was  pursu- 
ing my  studies  in  the  New  York  University  Gram- 
mar School  in  preparation  for  Princeton  College.  I 
was  strolling  one  day  on  the  Battery,  and  met  a 
friend  who  said  to  me :  "Yonder  goes  Daniel  Web- 
ster; he  has  just  landed  from  that  man-of-war;  go 
and  get  a  good  look  at  him."  I  hastened  my  steps 
and,  as  I  came  near  him,  I  was  as  much  awe-stricken 
as  if  I  had  been  gazing  on  Bunker  Hill  Monument. 
He  was  unquestionably  the  most  majestic  speci- 
men of  manhood  that  ever  trod  this  continent. 
Carlyle  called  him  "The  Great  Norseman,"  and 
said  that  his  eyes  were  like  great  anthracite  furnaces 
that  needed  blowing  up."  Coal  heavers  in  London 


126       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

stopped  to  stare  at  him  as  he  stalked  by,  and  it  is 
well  authenticated  that  Sydney  Smith  said  of  him, 
"That  man  is  a  fraud;  for  it  is  impossible  for  any 
one  to  be  as  great  as  he  looks." 

Mr.  Webster,  as  I  saw  him  that  day,  was  in  the 
vigor  of  his  splendid  prime.  When  he  spoke  in  the 
Senate  chamber  it  was  his  custom  to  wear  the  Whig 
uniform,  a  blue  coat  with  metal  buttons  and  a  buff 
waistcoat;  but  that  day  he  was  dressed  in  a  claret 
colored  coat  and  black  trousers.  His  complexion 
was  a  swarthy  brown.  He  used  to  say  that  while  his 
handsome  brother  Ezekiel  was  very  fair,  he  "had 
all  the  soot  of  the  family  in  his  face."  Such  a 
mountain  of  a  brow  I  have  never  seen  before  or 
since.  I  followed  behind  him  until  he  entered  the 
carriage  of  Mr.  Robert  Minturn  that  was  waiting 
for  him,  and  as  he  rode  away  he  looked  like  Jupiter 
Olympus.  Although  I  saw  Mr. Webster  several  times 
afterwards,  I  never  heard  him  speak  until  the  closing 
year  of  his  life.  The  Honorable  Lewis  Condit,  of 
Morristown,  N.  J.,  was  in  Congress  at  the  time 
when  Webster  had  his  historic  combat  with  Senator 
Hayne,  of  South  Carolina,  and  was  present  during 
the  delivery  of  the  most  magnificent  speech  ever 
delivered  in  our  Senate.  He  described  the  historic 
scene  to  me  minutely. 

Before  twelve  o'clock  on  the  26th  day  of  January, 
1830,  the  Senate  chamber  was  overflowing  into  the 


SOME  FAMOUS  PEOPLE  AT  HOME.         127 

rotunda,  and  people  were  offering  prices  for  a  few 
inches  of  breathing  room  in  the  charmed  enclosure. 
Senator  Dixon  H.  Lewis,  from  Alabama,  who 
weighed  nearly  four  hundred,  became  wedged  in 
behind  the  Vice  President's  chair,  unable  to  move, 
and  became  imbedded  in  the  crowd  like  a  broad- 
bottomed  schooner  settled  at  low  tide  into  the  mud. 
Being  unable  to  see,  he  drew  out  his  knife  and  cut  a 
hole  through  the  stained  glass  screens  that  flanked 
the  presiding  officer's  chair.  That  apperture  long 
remained  as  a  memorial  of  Lewis's  curiosity  to  wit- 
ness the  greatest  of  American  orators  deliver  the 
greatest  of  American  orations.  The  place  was 
worthy  of  the  hour  and  of  the  combatants.  It  was 
the  old  Senate  chamber,  now  occupied  by  the  United 
States  Supreme  Court,  the  same  hall  which  had 
once  resounded  to  the  eloquence  of  Rufus  King, 
as  it  afterwards  did  to  the  eloquence  of  Rufus 
Choate,  and  which  had  echoed  the  bursts  of  ap- 
plause that  once  greeted  Henry  Clay  of  Kentucky. 
On  that  memorable  morning  the  Vice-President's 
chair  was  occupied  by  that  intellectual  giant  of  the 
South,  John  C.  Calhoun.  Before  him  were  Van 
Buren,  Forsyth,  Hayne,  Clayton,  the  omniverous 
Benton,  the  sturdy  John  Quincy  Adams,  and,  in  the 
seething  crowd,  was  the  gaunt  skeleton  form  of 
John  Randolph  of  Roanoke. 

Mr.    Condit    told   me   that    when    Webster    ex- 


128       RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

claimed:  "The  world  knows  the  history  of  Massa- 
chusetts by  heart.  There  is  Lexington,  and  there 
is  Bunker  Hill  and  there  they  will  remain  forever," 
— the  group  of  Bostonians  seated  in  the  gallery  be- 
fore him,  broke  down,  and  wept  like  little  children. 
Quite  as  effective  as  his  eulogy  of  the  "Old  Bay 
State,"  was  his  sudden  and  awful  assault  upon  Sen- 
ator Levi  Woodbury,  of  New  Hampshire.  This 
representative  of  Webster's  native  State  had  sup- 
plied Colonel  Hayne  with  a  quantity  of  party  pam- 
phlets and  documents  to  be  used  as  ammunition. 
Webster  knew  this  fact  and  determined  to  punish 
him.  Turning  suddenly  towards  Woodbury,  he 
thundered  out  in  a  tone  of  indignant  scorn,  as  he 
shook  his  fist  over  his  head:  "I  employ  no  scaven- 
gers;" and  the  poor  New  Hampshire  Senator 
ducked  his  bald  head  as  if  struck  by  a  bombshell. 
The  closing-  passage  of  that  memorable  speech 
could  not  have  been  extemporized.  No  mortal  man 
could  have  thrown  off  that  magnificent  piece  of  Mil- 
tonic  prose  at  the  heat,  without  some  deep  premedi- 
tation. It  is  well  known  now  that  Mr.  Webster  af- 
terwards pruned,  amended  and  decorated  it  until  it 
is  recognized  as  one  of  the  grandest  passages  in  the 
English  language.  I  take  down  my  Webster  and 
read  it  occasionally,  and  it  has  in  it  the  majestic 
"sound  of  many  waters."  That  great  passage  is  the 
prelude  of  the  mighty  conflict  which  thirty  years 


SOME  FAMOUS  PEOPLE  AT  HOME.         129 

afterwards  was  to  be  waged  on  the  soil  of  Gettys- 
burg and  Chickamauga.  It  became  the  condensed 
creed,  and  the  battle-cry  of  the  long  warfare  for 
the  nation's  life.  Well  have  there  been  placed  in 
golden  letters  on  the  pedestal  of  Webster's  monu- 
ment in  Central  Park  the  last  sublime  line  of  that 
sentence:  "Liberty  and  Union,  now  and  forever:  one 
and  inseparable."  Mr.  Webster's  power  in  sarcas- 
tic invective  was  terrific.  After  he  had  made  his 
angry  and  ferocious  rejoinder  to  the  charges  of  Mr. 
Charles  J.  Ingersoll,  of  Pennsylvania,  the  witty  Dr. 
Elder  was  asked,  when  he  came  out  of  the  Senate 
chamber:  "What  did  you  think  of  that  speech?" 
Elder's  reply  was:  "Thunder  and  lightning  are 
peaches  and  cream  to  such  a  speech  as  that." 
Mighty  as  Webster  was  in  intellectual  power  he  had 
some  lamentable  weaknesses.  He  was  indeed  a 
wonderful  mixture  of  clay  and  iron.  The  iron  was 
extraordinarily  massive,  but  the  clay  was  loose  and 
brittle.  He  had  the  temptations  of  very  strong 
animal  passions,  and  sometimes  to  his  intimate 
friends  he  attempted  to  excuse  some  of  his 
excesses  of  that  kind.  There  has  been  much  con- 
troversy about  Mr.  Webster's  habits  in  regard  to 
intoxicants.  The  simple  truth  is  that  during  his 
visit  to  England  in  1840  he  was  so  lionized  and  feted 
at  public  dinners  that  he  brought  home  some  con- 
vivial habits  which  rather  grew  upon  him  in  advanc- 


130       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

ing  years.  On  several  public  occasions  he  gave  evi- 
dence that  he  was  somewhat  under  the  influence  of 
deep  potations.  I  once  saw  him  when  his  imperial 
brain  was  raked  with  the  chain-shot  of  alcohol. 
The  sight  moved  me  to  tears,  and  made  me  hate 
more  than  ever  the  accursed  drink  that,  like  death, 
is  no  "respecter  of  persons." 

I  heard  the  last  speech  that  Mr.  Webster  ever 
made.  It  was  a  few  months  before  his  death  in 
1852.  The  speech  was  delivered  at  Trenton,  N.  J., 
in  the  celebrated  India  rubber  case,  Goodyear  vs. 
Day,  in  which  Webster  was  the  leading  counsel  for 
Goodyear,  and  Rufus  Choate  headed  the  list  of  elo- 
quent advocates  in  defense  of  Mr.  Day.  In  that 
speech  Webster  was  physically  feeble,  so  that  after 
speaking  an  hour,  he  was  obliged  to  sit  down  for  a 
time,  while  Mr.  James  T.  Brady  made  a  new  state- 
ment with  regard  to  a  portion  of  the  evidence.  At 
that  time  Webster  was  broken  in  health.  The  most 
beautiful  passage  in  his  speech  was  his  tribute  to 
woman,  and  at  another  point  he  indulged  in  a  very 
ludicrous  description  of  the  character  of  the  first 
India  rubber,  which  was  offered  as  a  marketable  arti- 
cle. He  said :  "When  India  rubber  was  first  brought 
to  this  country  we  had  only  the  raw  material,  and 
they  made  overshoes  and  hats  of  it.  A  present  was 
sent  to  me  of  a  complete  suit  of  clothes  made  of  this 
India  rubber,  and  on  a  cold  winter  day  I  found  my 


SOME  FAMOUS  PEOPLE  AT  HOME.          131 

rubber  overcoat  was  frozen  as  rigid  as  ice.  I  took 
it  out  on  my  lawn,  set  it  upright,  put  a  broad  brim 
hat  on  top  of  it,  and  there  the  figure  stood  erect,  and 
my  neighbors,  as  they  passed  by  thought  they  saw 
the  old  farmer  of  Marshfield  standing  out  under  his 
trees."  Some  of  his  sarcastic  attacks  upon  Mr.  Day 
were  very  bitter,  and  when  he  showed  his  great, 
white  teeth  he  looked  like  an  enraged  lion. 

A  few  months  after  that  Trenton  speech  in  Octo- 
ber, 1852,  he  went  to  his  Marshfield  home  to  die. 
His  spirits  were  broken  and  he  was  sore  from  polit- 
ical disappointments.  His  last  few  days  were  spent 
in  a  fight  by  his  powerful  constitution  against  the 
inevitable.  The  last  time  he  walked  feebly  from 
his  bed  to  his  window  he  called  out  to  his  servant 
man :  "I  want  you  to  moor  my  yacht  down  there 
where  I  can  see  it  from  my  window;  then  I  want 
you  to  hoist  the  flag  at  the  mast  head,  and  every 
night  to  hang  the  lamp  up  in  the  rigging;  when  I 
go  down  I  want  to  go  down  with  my  colors  flying 
and  my  lamp  burning."  He  told  them  to  put  on  his 
monument,  "Lord,  I  believe;  help  Thou  my  unbe- 
lief." In  the  final  moment  he  started  up  from  his 
pillow  long  enough  to  say:  "I  still  live."  He  does 
live,  and  will  ever  live  in  the  grateful  memories  of 
his  countrymen. 

While  no  one  can  deplore  more  than  the  writer 
the  weaknesses  and  mistakes  of  Daniel  Webster, 


132       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

yet  when  I  remember  his  intellectual  prowess  and 
his  magnificent  services  in  defense  of  the  Consti- 
tution, and  the  integrity  of  our  national  union,  I  am 
ready  to  say :  "Let  us  to  all  his  failings  and  faults 
be  charitably  kind  and  only  remember  the  glorious 
services  he  wrought  to  the  country  he  loved." 

During  the  summer  of  1840,  when  I  was  a  col- 
lege student  at  Princeton,  I  went  with  a  friend  to  the 
office  of  the  Log  Cabin,  a  Whig  campaign  news- 
paper then  published  in  Nassau  Street,  New  York. 
It  was  during  the  famous  Tippecanoe  campaign, 
which  resulted  in  the  election,  of  General  Harrison. 
I  was  introduced  to  a  singular  looking  man  in  rus- 
tic dress.  He  was  writing  an  editorial.  His  face 
had  a  peculiar  infantile  smoothness,  and  his  long 
flaxen  hair  fell  down  over  his  shoulders.  I  little 
dreamed  then  that  that  uncouth  man  in  tow  trousers 
was  yet  to  be  the  foremost  editor  in  America,  and 
a  candidate,  unwisely,  for  President  of  the  United 
States.  Horace  Greeley,  for  it  was  he,  who  sat  be- 
fore me,  has  been  often  described  as  a  man  with 
the  "face  of  an  angel,  and  the  walk  of  a  clod-hop- 
per." Ten  years  later  I  became  well  acquainted  with 
him,  and  from  that  time  a  most  cordial  friendship 
existed  until  his  dying  day.  He  visited  me  as  a 
speaker  at  our  State  convention  in  Trenton,  N.  Y. 
I  had  him  at  my  house  at  supper  when  my  mother 
asked  him  if  he  would  take  coffee.  His  droll  reply 


SOME  FAMOUS  PEOPLE  AT  HOME.          133 

was :  "I  hope  to  drink  coffee,  madamc,  in  heaven, 
but  I  cannot  stand  it  in  this  world."  After  sup- 
per I  informed  my  guest  that  it  was  customary  for 
my  good  mother  and  myself  (for  I  was  not  yet 
married),  to  have  family  worship  immediately  at 
the  close  of  that  meal  and  asked  him  whether  he 
would  not  join  us.  He  cordially  replied  that  he 
would  be  most  happy  to  do  so,  and  it  is  quite  prob- 
able that  I  may  be  one  of  the  few, — perhaps  the  only 
— clergyman  in  this  land  who  ever  had  Horace 
Greeley  kneeling  beside  him  in  prayer.  He  attired 
himself  in  the  famous  old  white  coat,  and  shambled 
along  with  my  mother  to  the  place  of  meeting.  He 
quite  captivated  her  with  a  most  pathetic  account  of 
his  idolized  boy  "Pickie,"  who  had  died  a  short  time 
before.  Mr.  Greeley  was  one  of  the  most  simple- 
hearted,  great  men  whom  I  have  ever  met ;  without 
a  spark  of  ordinary  vanity  he  was  intensely  affec- 
tionate in  his  sympathies  and  loved  a  genuine  kind 
word  that  came  from  the  heart.  He  relished  more  a 
quiet  talk  with  an  old  friend  in  his  home  at  Chap- 
paqua  than  all  the  glare  of  public  notoriety.  "Come 
up,"  he  often  said  to  me,  "and  spend  a  Saturday 
at  the  farm.  The  good  boys  do  come  and  see  me 
up  there  sometimes."  Probably  no  man  lived  a 
purer  life  than  Horace  Greeley.  He  was  the  most 
devoted  of  husbands  to  one  of  the  most  eccentric  of 
wives.  His  defenses  of  the  spiritual  sanctity  of 


134       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

marriage  in  reply  to  Dale  Owen  are  among  the  most 
powerful  productions  of  his  ever  powerful  pen.  It 
were  well  that  they  should  be  reproduced  now  at 
a  time  when  the  laxity  of  wedlock  and  the  wicked 
facilities  for  divorce  are  working  such  peril  to  our 
domestic  life. 

John  Bright  once  said:  "Horace  Greeley  is  the 
greatest  of  living  editors."  He  once  told  me  that 
he  had  written  editorials  for  a  dozen  papers  at  one 
time.  He  also  told  me  that  while  he  was  prepar- 
ing his  history  of  the  "American  Conflict"  he  was 
in  the  habit  of  writing  three  columns  of  editorials 
every  day.  His  articles  were  freighted  with  great 
power,  for  he  was  one  of  the  strongest  writers  of 
the  English  language  on  this  continent.  They  were 
always  brimful  of  thought,  for  Mr.  Greeley  seldom 
wrote  on  any  subject  which  he  had  not  thoroughly 
mastered.  Speaking  of  a  certain  popular  orator, 
who  afterwards  went  as  our  minister  to  China,  he 

said  to  me:  "Mr.  B. is  a  pretty  man,  a  very 

pretty  man,  but  he  does  not  study,  and  no  man  ever 
can  have  permanent  power  in  this  country  unless  he 
studies." 

Mr.  Greeley  prided  himself  upon  his  accuracy  as 
an  editor,  but  one  day,  when  writing  an  editorial, 
in  which  he  denounced  some  political  misdemeanor 
in  the  County  of  Chatauqua,  by  a  slip  of  his  pen  he 
wrote  the  name  of  the  adjoining  county  Cattarau- 


SOME  FAMOUS  PEOPLE  AT  HOME.          135 

gus.  The  next  morning  when  he  saw  it  in  the  paper 
he  went  up  into  the  composing  room  in  a  perfect 
rage  and  called  out,  "Who  put  that  Cattaraugus  ?" 
The  printers  all  gathered  around  him  amused  at 
his  anger  until  one  of  them  pulling  down  from  the 
hook  the  original  editorial  showed  him  the  word 
"Cattaraugus."  "Uncle  Horace,"  when  he  saw  the 
word,  with  a  most  inexpressible  meekness,  drawled 
out :  "Will  some  one  please  to  kick  me  down  those 
stairs  ?" 

He  abominated  mendicancy  and,  although  his  na- 
tive goodness  of  heart  often  led  him  to  give  to  the 
hundreds  who  came  to  him  for  pecuniary  aid,  he  one 
day  said  to  me:  "Since  I  have  lived  in  New  York 
I  have  given  away  money  enough  to  set  up  a  mer- 
chant in  business,  and  I  sometimes  doubt  whether  I 
have  done  more  good  or  harm  by  the  operation.  I 
am  continually  beset  by  various  clubs  and  societies 
all  over  the  land  to  donate  to  them  the  Tribune.  I 
always  tell  them  if  it  is  worth  reading  it  is  worth 
paying  for.  The  curse  of  this  country  is  the  dead- 
head. I  pay  for  my  own  Tribune  every  morning." 

From  my  old  friend's  theology  I  strongly  dis- 
sented, but  in  practical  philanthropy  he  gave  me 
many  a  lesson  and  still  better  stimulant  of  his  own 
unselfish  example.  He  was  always  ready  to  work 
in  the  cause  of  reform  without  pay  and  without  ap- 
plause. When  temperance  meetings  were  held  in 


136       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

my  church  he  very  gladly  lent  his  effective  services, 
refusing  any  compensation,  and  there  was  no  man 
in  the  city  whose  evening  hours  were  worth  more 
in  solid  gold  than  his.  It  is  said  that  he  was  once 
called  upon,  in  the  absence  of  his  minister,  in  a  Uni- 
versalist  Church,  to  go  into  the  pulpit.  He  did  so, 
and  delivered  a  very  pungent  sermon  on  the  text, 
"The  fool  hath  said  in  his  heart  there  is  no  God." 
The  strongest  points  made  by  Mr.  Greeley  in  the 
best  of  his  printed  essays  are  those  which  empha- 
size the  authority  of  God.  A  letter  in  his  character- 
istic hieroglyphics,  the  last  one  he  ever  wrote  tome, 
and  which  now  lies  before  me,  was  in  reply  to  one  of 
mine,  criticising  the  Tribune  for  speaking  of  Dr. 
Tyng's  as  a  "church"  and  of  Dr.  Adams's  house 
of  worship  as  a  "meeting  house."  I  told  him  if  one 
was  a  church,  then  the  other  was  equally  so.  He 
replied:  "I  am  of  Puritan  stock,  on  one  side,  in 
America  since  1640,  and  on  the  other  since  1720. 
My  people  worshiped  God  in  a  meeting  house ;  they 
gave  it  the  name,  not  I,  and  they  called  the  body 
of  believers  who  met  therein  'a  church."  Episcopa- 
lians speak  otherwise.  It  is  a  bad  sign  that  we  do 
not  seem  disposed  to  hold  fast  the  form  of  sound 
words." 

I  am  not  aware  of  any  Scriptural  authority  for 
calling  a  steepled  house  "a  church." 

The  last  evening  I  ever  spent  with  him  was  at  a 


SOME  FAMOUS  PEOPLE  AT  HOME.         137 

temperance  meeting  of  plain  working  people,  to 
which  he  came  several  miles  through  a  snow  storm. 
He  spoke  with  great  power,  and  when  I  told  him 
afterwards  it  was  one  of  the  finest  addresses  I  had 
ever  heard  from  him  he  said  to  me :  "I  would  rather 
tell  some  truths  to  help  such  plain  people  as  we  had 
to-night  than  address  thousands  of  the  cultured  in 
the  Academy  of  Music."  As  he  bade  me  good-night 
at  yonder  corner  of  Fulton  Street,  I  said  to  him: 
"Uncle  Horace,  will  you  not  come  and  spend  the 
night  with  me?"  He  said,  "No,  I  have  much  work 
to  do  before  morning.  I  am  coming  over  soon  to 
spend  a  week  in  Brooklyn  with  my  brother-in-law, 
and  I  will  come  and  have  a  night  with  you."  Alas, 
it  was  not  long  before  he  came  to  spend  a  night  in 
Brooklyn, — that  night  that  knows  no  morning.  On 
a  chilly  November  day,  towards  twilight,  I  was  one 
of  the  crowd  that  followed  him  to  his  resting  place 
in  Greenwood,  and  I  always,  when  on  my  way  to 
my  own  plot,  stop  to  gaze  on  the  monument  that 
bears  the  inscription,  "Founder  of  the  New  York 
Tribune." 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  CIVIL  WAR  AND  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN. 

AN  enormous  quantity  of  books,  historic  and  rem- 
iniscent, have  been  written  about  our  Civil  War, 
which,  both  in  regard  to  the  number  of  combatants 
engaged,  and  the  magnitude  of  the  interests  in- 
volved, and  its  far-reaching  consequences,  was  the 
most  colossal  conflict  of  modern  times.  Before  pre- 
senting a  few  of  my  own  personal  recollections  of 
the  struggle,  let  me  say  that  when  the  struggle  was 
over,  no  one  was  more  eager  than  myself  to  bury  the 
tomahawk,  and  to  offer  the  calumet  of  peace  to  our 
Southern  fellow  countrymen  and  fellow  Christians. 
Whenever  I  have  visited  them  their  cordial  greeting 
has  warmed  the  cockles  of  my  heart.  I  thank  God 
that  the  great  gash  has  been  so  thoroughly  healed, 
and  that  I  have  lived  to  see  the  day  when  the  peo- 
ple of  the  North  feel  a  national  pride  in  the  splendid 
prowess  of  Lee,  and  the  heroic  Christian  character 
of  Stonewall  Jackson,  and  when  some  of  the  noblest 
tributes  to  Abraham  Lincoln  have  been  spoken 
by  such  representative  Southerners  as  Mr.  Grady, 
of  Georgia,  and  Mr.  Watterson,  of  Kentucky.  I 
had  hoped  ere  this  to  see  the  Northern  and  South- 
ern wings  of  our  venerable  Presbyterian  Church  re- 
138 


,   CIVIL  WAR  AND  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.     139 

united ;  but  I  am  confident  that  there  are  plenty  of 
people  now  living  who  will  yet  witness  their  happy 
ecclesiastical  nuptials.  Terrible  as  was  that  war 
in  the  sacrifice  of  precious  life,  and  in  the  destruc- 
tion of  property,  it  was  unquestionably  inevitable. 
Mr.  Seward  was  right  when  he  called  the  conflict 
"irrepressible."  Abraham  Lincoln  was  a  true 
prophet  when  he  declared,  at  Springfield,  111.,  in 
June,  1858,  that  "A  house  divided  against  itself 
cannot  stand ;  I  believe  this  government  cannot  en- 
dure permanently  half  slave  and  half  free."  When 
in  my  early  life  I  spoke  to  my  good  mother  about 
some  anti-slavery  addresses  that  had  been  deliv- 
ered, she  said  to  me,  with  wonderful  foresight, 
"These  speeches  will  avail  but  little ;  slavery  will  go 
down  in  blood."  That  it  has  gone  down  even  at 
the  cost  of  so  much  blood  and  treasure  is  to-day  as 
much  a  matter  for  congratulation  in  the  South  as 
it  is  in  the  North. 

My  first  glimpse  of  the  long  predicted  conflict 
was  the  sight  of  the  Seventh  Regiment, — composed 
of  the  flower  of  New  York, — swinging  down  Broad- 
way in  April,  1861,  on  its  way  to  the  protection  of 
Washington, — amid  the  thundering  cheers  of  the 
bystanders.  Before  long  I  offered  my  services  to 
the  "Christian  commission"  which  had  been  organ- 
ized by  that  noble  and  godly  minded  patriot,  George 
H.  Stuart,  of  Philadelphia,  and  I  went  on  to  Wash- 


140       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

ingtou  to  preach  to  our  soldiers.  I  found  Wash- 
ington a  huge  military  encampment;  the  hills 
around  were  white  with  tents,  and  Pennsylvania 
Avenue  was  filled  almost  every  day  with  troops  of 
horsemen,  or  with  trains  of  artillery.  While  I  was 
in  Washington  I  lodged  with  my  beloved  college 
professor,  that  eminent  Christian  philosopher, 
Joseph  Henry, — in  the  Smithsonian  Institution,  of 
which  he  was  the  head.  One  night,  after  I  had 
been  out  addressing  our  boys  in  blue  at  one  of  the 
camps,  and  had  retired  for  the  night,  Professor 
Henry  came  into  my  room  and,  sitting  down  by  my 
bed,  discussed  the  aspects  of  the  struggle.  His 
mental  eye  was  as  sharp  in  reading  the  signs  of  the 
times  as  it  had  been  when  at  Albany,  thirty  years 
before,  he  made  his  splendid  discovery  in  electro- 
magnetism.  He  said  to  me:  "This  war  may  last 
several  years,  but  it  can  have  only  one  result,  for 
it  is  simply  a  question  of  dynamics.  The  stronger 
force  must  pulverize  the  weaker  one,  and  the  North 
will  win  the  day.  When  the  war  is  over,  the  country 
will  not  be  what  it  was  before ;  the  triumph  of  the 
union  will  leave  us  a  prodigiously  centralized  gov- 
ernment, and  the  old  Calhoun  theory  of  'State 
rights'  will  be  dead.  We  shall  have  an  inflated  cur- 
rency— an  enormous  debt  with  a  host  of  tax-gath- 
erers, and  huge  pension  rolls.  What  is  most  need- 
ed now  is  wise  statesmanship,  and  the  first  quality 


CIVIL  WAR  AND  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.     141 

of  a  statesman  is  prescience.  In  my  position  here, 
as  head  of  the  Smithsonian,  I  cannot  be  a  partisan ! 
I  did  not  vote  the  Republican  ticket,  but  I  am  con- 
fident that  by  a  long  way  the  most  far-seeing  head 
in  this  land  is  on  the  shoulders  of  that  awkward 
rail-splitter  from  Illinois."  Every  syllable  of  Pro- 
fessor Henry's  prognostication  proved  true,  and 
nothing  more  true  than  his  estimate  of  Lincoln  at  a 
time  when  there  was  too  much  disposition  to  dis- 
trust him. 

As  I  have  had  for  many  years  what  my  friends 
have  playfully  called  "Lincoln  on  the  brain,"  let 
me  say  a  few  words  in  regard  to  the  most  marvel- 
lous man  that  this  country  has  produced  in  the  nine- 
teenth century.  His  name  is  to-day  a  household 
word  in  every  civilized  land.  Dr.  Newman  Hall,  of 
London,  has  told  me  that  when  he  had  addressed 
a  listless  audience,  he  found  that  nothing  was  so 
certain  to  arouse  them  as  to  introduce  the  name  of 
Abraham  Lincoln.  Certainly  no  other  name  has 
such  electric  power  over  every  true  heart  from 
Maine  to  Mexico.  The  first  time  I  ever  saw  the 
man  whom  we  used  to  call,  familiarly  and  affec- 
tionately, "Uncle  Abe,"  was  at  the  Tremont  House 
in  Chicago,  a  few  days  after  his  election  to  the  pres- 
idency. His  room  was  very  near  my  own.  I  sent  in 
my  card,  and  he  greeted  me  with  a  characteristic 
grasp  of  the  hand,  and  his  first  sentence  rather 


142      RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

touched  my  soft  spot  when  he  said:  "I  have  kegt 
up  with  you  nearly  every  week  in  the  New  York 
Independent."  His  voice  had  a  clear,  magnetic 
ring,  and  his  heart  seemed  to  be  in  his  voice.  Three 
months  afterwards  I  saw  him  again,  riding  down 
Broadway,  New  York  (thronged  with  a  gazing 
multitude),  on  his  way  to  assume  the  presidency 
at  Washington.  He  stood  up  in  a  barouche  holding 
on  with  his  hand  to  the  seat  of  the  driver.  His  tow- 
ering figure  was  filled  out  by  a  long  blue  cloak,  and 
a  heavy  cape  which  he  wore.  On  his  bare  head  rose 
a  thick  mass  of  black  hair — the  crown  which  nature 
gave  to  her  king.  His  large,  melancholy  eyes  had  a 
solemn,  far-away  look  as  if  he  discerned  the  toils 
and  trials  that  awaited  him.  The  great  patriot- 
President,  moving  slowly  on  toward  the  conflict, 
the  glory  and  the  martyrdom,  that  were  reserved  for 
him,  still  remains  in  my  memory,  as  the  most  august 
and  majestic  figure  that  my  eyes  have  ever  beheld. 
He  never  passed  through  New  York  again  until 
he  was  borne  through  tears  and  broken  hearts  on 
his  last  journey  to  his  Western  tomb. 

I  did  not  see  Lincoln  again  until  two  years  after- 
wards, when  I  was  in  Washington  on  duty  for  the 
Christian  Commission.  It  was  one  of  his  public 
levee  nights,  and  as  soon  as  I  came  up  to  him,  his 
first  words  were :  "Doctor,  I  have  not  seen  you  since 
we  met  in  the  Tremont  House  in  Chicago."  I  men- 


CIVIL  WAR  AND  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.     143 

tion  this  as  an  illustration  of  his  marvelous  memory ; 
he  never  forgot  a  face  or  a  name  or  the  slightest  in- 
cident. My  mother  was  with  me  at  the  Smithso- 
nian, and  as  she  was  extremely  desirous  to  see  the 
President  I  took  her  over  to  the  White  House  late 
on  the  following  afternoon.  In  those  war  times, 
when  Washington  was  a  camp,  the  White  House 
looked  more  like  an  army  barracks  than  the  Pres- 
idential mansion.  In  the  entrance  hall  that  day  were 
piles  of  express  boxes,  among  which  was  a  little  lad 
playing  and  tumbling  them  about.  "Will  you  go 
and  find  somebody  to  take  our  cards?"  said  my 
mother  to  the  child.  He  ran  off  and  brought  the 
Irishman,  whose  duty  it  was  to  receive  callers  at  the 
door.  That  was  the  same  Irishman  who,  when  the 
poor  soldier's  wife  was  going  in  to  plead  for  her 
husband's  pardon  of  a  capital  offense  he  had  com- 
mitted, said  to  her:  "Be  sure  to  take  your  baby  in 
with  you."  When  she  came  out  smiling  and  happy, 
Patrick  said  to  her:  "Ah,  ma'am,  'twas  the  baby 
that  did  it" 

The  shockingly  careless  appearance  of  the  White 
House  proved  that  whatever  may  have  been  Mrs. 
Lincoln's  other  good  qualities,  she  hadn't  earned 
the  compliment  which  the  Yankee  farmer  paid  to  his 
wife  when  he  said:  "Ef  my  wife  haint  got  an  ear 
fer  music,  she's  got  an  eye  fer  dirt."  When  we 
reached  the  room  of  the  President's  Private  Sec- 


144       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

retary,  my  old  friend,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Neill,  of  St. 
Paul's,  told  me  that  it  was  military  court  day,  when 
the  President  had  to  decide  upon  cases  of  army  dis- 
cipline that  came  before  him  and  when  he  received 
no  calls.  I  told  Neill  that  my  mother  could  never 
die  happy  if  she  had  not  seen  Lincoln.  He  took  in 
our  names  to  the  President,  who  told  him  to  bring 
us  in.  We  entered  the  room  in  which  the  Cabinet 
usually  met — and  there,  before  the  fire,  stood  the 
tall,  gaunt  form  attired  in  a  seedy  frock-coat,  with 
his  long  hair  unkempt,  and  his  thin  face  the  very 
picture  of  distress.  "How  -is  Mrs.  Lincoln?"  in- 
quired my  mother.  "Oh,  said  the  President,  "I  have 
not  seen  her  since  seven  o'clock  this  morning ;  Tad, 
how  is  your  mother?"  "She  is  pretty  well,"  replied 
the  little  fellow,  who  was  coiled  up  then  in  an  arm 
chair,  the  same  lad  we  had  seen  playing  down  in  the 
entrance  hall.  We  spent  but  a  few  moments  with 
Mr.  Lincoln,  and  when  we  came  out  my  mother 
exclaimed :  "Oh,  what  a  cruelty  to  keep  that  man 
here !  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  sad  face  in  your  life  ?" 
I  never  had,  and  I  have  given  this  account  of  my 
call  on  him  in  order  that  my  readers  may  not  only 
understand  what  democratic  customs  then  prevailed 
in  the  White  House,  but  may  get  some  faint  idea 
of  the  terribly  trying  life  that  Mr.  Lincoln  led. 

Dr.  Bellows,  the  President  of  the  Sanitary  Com- 
mission, once  said  to  him:    "Mr.  President,  I  am 


CIVIL  WAR  AND  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.     145 

here  at  almost  every  hour  of  the  day  or  night,  and 
I  never  saw  you  at  the  table;  do  you  ever  eat?" 
"I  try  to,"  replied  the  President;  "I  manage  to 
browse  about  pretty  much  as  I  can  get  it."  After 
the  long  wearing,  nerve-taxing  days  were  over  in 
which  he  was  glad  to  relieve  himself  occasionally 
with  a  good  story  or  a  merry  laugh,  came  the  nights 
of  anxiety  when  sleep  was  often  banished  from  his 
pillow.  He  frequently  wrapped  himself  in  his 
Scotch  shawl,  and  at  midnight  stole  across  to  the 
War  Office,  and  listened  to  the  click  of  the  tele- 
graph instruments,  which  brought  sometimes  good 
news,  and  sometimes  terrible  tales  of  defeat.  On 
the  day  after  he  heard  of  the  awful  slaughter  at 
Fredericksburg,  he  remarked  at  the  War  Office : 
"If  any  of  the  lost  in  hell  suffered  worse  than  I  did 
last  night,  I  pity  them."  Nothing  but  iron  nerves 
and  a  dependence  on  the  divine  arm  bore  him 
through.  He  once  said :  "I  have  been  driven  many 
times  to  my  knees  by  the  overwhelming  conviction 
that  I  had  nowhere  else  to  go ;  my  own  wisdom  and 
that  of  all  around  me  seemed  insufficient  for  the 
day."  We  call  him  "Our  Martyr  President,"  but 
the  martyrdom  lasted  for  four  whole  years ! 

The  darkest  crisis  of  the  whole  war  was  in  the 
summer  of  1862.  I  slipped  away  for  a  few  weeks 
of  relaxation  to  Europe,  sailing  on  the  Cunarder 
China,  the  first  screw  steamer  ever  built  by  that 


146      RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

company.  She  was  under  the  command  of  Captain 
James  Anderson,  who  was  afterwards  knighted  by 
Queen  Victoria  for  his  services  in  laying  the  At- 
lantic cable,  and  is  better  known  as  Sir  James  An- 
derson. There  was  no  Atlantic  cable  in  those  days, 
and  our  steamer  carried  out  the  news  of  the  seven 
days'  battles  before  Richmond,  which  terminated 
in  the  retreat  of  General  McClellan.  We  had  a 
Fourth  of  July  dinner  on  board,  but  between  sea- 
sickness and  heart  sickness  it  was  the  toughest  ex- 
perience of  making  a  spread-eagle  speech  I  ever 
had.  After  landing  at  Queenstown  I  went  to  Bel- 
fast and  thence  to  Edinburgh.  I  found  the  people  of 
Edinburgh  intensely  excited  over  our  war  and  the 
current  of  popular  sentiment  running  against  us  like 
a  mill-race.  For  instance,  I  was  recognized  by  my 
soft  hat  on  the  street ;  a  shoemaker  put  his  head  out 
of  the  door  and  shouted  as  I  passed :  "I  say,  when 
are  you  going  to  be  done  with  your  butchering  over 
there?"  The  Scotsman  was  hostile  to  the  Union 
cause,  and  the  old  Caledonian  Mercury  was  the 
only  paper  that  stood  by  us ;  but  it  did  so  manfully. 
On  the  day  of  my  arrival  a  bulletin  was  posted  in 
the  newspaper  offices  and  on  Change  that  McClellan 
and  the  Union  army  had  surrendered.  The  baleful 
report  was  received  with  no  little  exultation  by  all 
who  were  engaged  in  the  cotton  trade.  I  sat  up  un- 
til midnight  with  the  editor  of  the  Mercury,  helping 


CIVIL  WAR  AND  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.      147 

him  to  squelch  the  rumor  and  the  next  morning 
expose  the  falsity  of  the  news  in  his  columns. 

Dr.  John  Brown,  the  immortal  author  of  "Rab 
and  His  Friends,"  had  called  on  me  at  the  Waverly 
Hotel,  and  that  morning  I  breakfasted  with  him.  At 
the  breakfast  table  I  made  a  statement  of  our  side 
of  the  conflict  and  Dr.  Brown  said:  "If  you  will 
write  up  that  statement,  I  will  get  my  friend,  Mr. 
Russell,  the  editor  of  the  Scotsman,  to  publish  it 
in  his  paper."  I  did  so  and  sent  it  to  the  care  of  Dr. 
Brown.  On  the  following  Sabbath  afternoon  I  at- 
tended the  great  prayer  meeting  in  the  Free  Church 
Assembly  Hall,  and  Sir  James  Simpson  was  to  pre- 
side. There  was  a  crowd  of  over  a  thousand  peo- 
ple present.  Simpson  did  not  come,  and  so  some 
other  elder  occupied  the  chair.  During  the  meeting 
I  arose  and  modestly  asked  that  prayer  might 
be  offered  for  my  country  in  this  hour  of  her 
peril  and  distress.  There  was  an  awful  silence! 
In  a  few  moments  the  chairman  meekly  said: 
"Perhaps  our  American  friend  will  offer  the  prayer 
himself."  I  did  so,  for  it  was  evident  that  all 
the  Scotchmen  present  considered  our  cause  past 
praying  for. 

On  the  morning  of  our  departure  my  letter  ap- 
peared in  the  Scotsman  accompanied  by  a  long  and 
bitter  reply  by  the  editor.  Within  a  week  several 
of  the  Scotch  newspapers  were  in  full  cry,  denounc- 


148      RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

ing     that     "bloody     Presbyterian     minister     from 
America." 

After  a  hurried  run  to  Switzerland  I  reached 
Paris  in  time  to  witness  the  celebration  of  the  im- 
perial birthday  and  to  see  Louis  Napoleon  review 
the  splendid  army  of  Italy  with  great  pomp,  on  the 
Champs  des  Mars.  It  was  a  magnificent  spectacle. 
That  day  Mr.  Slidell,  the  representative  of  the 
Southern  Confederacy,  hung  on  the  front  of  his 
house  an  immense  white  canvas  on  which  was  in- 
scribed :  "Jefferson  Davis,  the  First  President  of  the 
Confederate  States  of  America."  Our  ambassador, 
Hon.  William  L.  Dayton,  was  a  relative  of  mine, 
and  I  had  several  conversations  with  him  about  the 
perilous  situation  of  affairs  at  home.  Dayton  said : 
"Our  prospects  are  dark  enough.  All  the  monarchs 
and  aristocracies  are  against  us ;  all  the  cotton  and 
commercial  interests  are  against  us.  Emperor  Louis 
Napoleon  is  a  sphinx,  but  he  would  like  to  help  to 
acknowledge  the  Southern  Confederacy.  If  he  does 
so  Belgium  and  other  powers  will  join  him;  they 
will  break  the  blockade;  they  will  supply  the  Con- 
federates with  arms  and  then  we  must  fight  Europe 
as  well  as  the  Southern  States.  Our  only  real 
friends  are  men  like  John  Bright,  and  those  who 
believe  that  we  are  fighting  for  freedom  as  well  as 
for  our  National  Union.  Mr.  Lincoln  must  declare 
for  emancipation  and  unless  he  does  it  within  thirty 


CIVIL  WAR  AND  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.      149 

days,  I  have  written  to  Mr.  Seward  that  our  cause  is 
lost." 

I  returned  to  London  with  a  heavy  heart;  all  of 
our  friends  there  with  whom  I  conversed  echoed  the 
sentiments  of  Mr.  Dayton.  One  of  them  said  to  me : 
"Earl  Russell  has  no  especial  love  for  your  Union, 
but  he  abominates  negro  slavery,  and  is  very  reluc- 
tant to  acknowledge  a  new  slave-owning  govern- 
ment. Prince  Albert  and  the  Queen  are  friendly  to 
you,  but  you  must  emancipate  the  slaves." 

My  return  passage  from  Liverpool  was  on  board 
the  Asia,  and  Captain  Anderson  commanded  her 
for  that  voyage.  When  we  reached  Boston,  we 
heard  the  distressing  news  of  the  second  Battle  of 
Bull  Run,  and  our  prospects  were  black  as  midnight. 
Captain  Anderson  remarked  to  me,  in  a  compassion- 
ate tone:  "Well,  Mr.  Cuyler,  you  Yankees  had 
better  give  it  up  now."  "Never,  never,"  I  replied  to 
him.  "You  will  live  to  see  the  Union  restored  and 
slavery  extinguished."  He  laughed  at  me  and  bid 
me  "good-bye."  A  few  years  afterwards,  I  laughed 
back  again  when  I  met  him  in  New  York. 

On  Sunday  evening,  September  7,  I  addressed  a 
vast  crowd  in  my  own  Lafayette  Avenue  Church, 
and  told  them  frankly,  that  our  only  hope  was  in  a 
proclamation  for  freedom  by  President  Lincoln. 
Henry  Ward  Beecher  invited  me  to  repeat  my  ad- 
dress on  the  next  Sunday  evening  in  Plymouth 


ISO       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

Church.  I  did  so  and  the  house  was  packed  clear 
out  to  the  sidewalk.  At  the  end  of  my  address  Mr. 
Beecher  leaned  over  and  said:  "The  Lord  helped 
you  to-night."  When  the  meeting  closed  Mr.  Henry 
C.  Bowen,  said :  "Will  you  and  Mr.  Beecher  not 
start  for  Washington  to-morrow  morning  to  urge 
Mr.  Lincoln  to  proclaim  emancipation?"  We  both 
agreed  to  go  before  the  week  was  over,  but  could 
not  before.  On  the  Wednesday  of  that  very  week 
the  Battle  of  Antietam  was  fought,  and  on  the  Fri- 
day morning  we  opened  our  papers  and  read  Presi- 
dent Lincoln's  first  Proclamation  of  Emancipation. 
The  great  deed  was  done;  the  night  was  over;  the 
morning  had  dawned.  From  that  day  onward  our 
cause,  under  God,  was  saved ;  but  that  proclamation 
saved  the  Union.  No  foreign  power  dared  to 
oppose  us  after  that,  and  Gettysburg  sealed  the 
righteous  act  of  Lincoln,  the  Liberator,  and  decided 
the  victory. 

At  the  beginning  of  this  chapter  I  described  the 
thrilling  scenes  at  the  opening  of  the  conflict;  let 
me  now  narrate  a  still  more  thrilling  one  at  its 
termination.  The  war  began  by  the  surrender  of 
Fort  Sumter  by  Major  Anderson,  April  13,  1861 ; 
the  war  virtually  ended  by  the  restoration  of  the 
national  flag  by  the  same  hand  in  the  same  Fort,  on 
April  14,  1865. 

I  joined  an  excursion  party  from  New  York,  on 


CIVIL  WAR  AND  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.      151 

the  steamer  Oceanus,  and  we  went  down  to  witness 
the  impressive  ceremonies  in  Sumter.  We  found 
Charleston  a  scene  of  wretched  desolation,  and 
General  Sherman,  who  had  once  resided  there,  said 
he  had  never  realized  the  horrors  of  war  until  he 
had  seen  the  terrible  ruins  of  that  once  beautiful 
city.  At  the  time  of  my  writing,  now,  Charleston  is 
crowded  every  day  with  visitors  to  its  industrial 
Exposition,  and  the  President  is  received  with  ova- 
tions by  its  people. 

Our  party  went  over  to  Fort  Sumter  in  a 
steamer  commanded  by  a  negro,  who  was  an  eman- 
cipated slave,  but  very  soon  became  a  member  of 
Congress.  The  broken  walls  of  Sumter,  brown, 
battered  and  lonely  in  the  quiet  waves  were  hope- 
lessly scarred,  and  all  around  it  on  the  narrow  beach 
lay  a  stratum  of  bullets  and  broken  iron  several 
inches  deep. 

The  Fort  that  day  was  crowded  with  an  immense 
assemblage.  Among  them  were  the  Hon.  Henry 
Wilson,  afterwards  Vice-President,  and  Attorney- 
General  Holt,  Judge  Hoxie,  of  New  York,  William 
Lloyd  Garrison  and  George  Thompson,  the  famous 
member  of  the  English  Parliament,  who  had  once 
been  mobbed  for  his  anti-slavery  speech  in  this 
country.  General  S.  L.  Woodford  was  in  command 
for  the  day.  Dr.  Richard  S.  Storrs  offered  an  im- 
pressive prayer,  and  the  Qra.tion  ,was  delivered  by 


152       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

direction  of  the  Government,  by  Henry  Ward 
Beecher.  When  the  speech  was  completed,  Major 
Anderson  drew  out  from  a  mail  bag  the  identical 
bunting  that  he  had  lowered  four  years  before,  and 
attached  the  flag  to  the  halyards,  and  when  it  began 
to  ascend,  General  Gilmore  grasped  the  rope  behind 
him,  and,  as  it  came  along  to  our  part  of  the  plat- 
form several  of  us  grasped  it  also.  Mr.  Thompson 
shouted,  "Give  John  Bull  a  hold  of  that  rope." 
When  the  dear  old  flag  reached  the  summit  of  the 
staff,  and  its  starry  eyes  looked  out  over  the  broad 
harbor,  such  a  volley  of  cannon  from  ship  and  shore 
burst  forth  that  one  might  imagine  the  old  battle  of 
the  Monitors  was  being  fought  over  again. 

The  frantic  scene  inside  the  Fort  beggars  descrip- 
tion. We  grasped  hands  and  shouted  and  my  irre- 
pressible old  friend,  Hoxie,  of  New  York,  with  tears 
in  his  eyes,  embraced  one  after  another,  exclaiming : 
"This  is  the  greatest  day  of  my  life !"  In  the  rain- 
bow of  those  stars  and  stripes  we  read  that  day  the 
covenant  that  the  deluge  of  blood  was  ended,  and 
that  the  ark  of  freedom  had  rested  at  length  upon 
its  Ararat. 

On  the  next  day  I  addressed  a  thousand  negro 
children,  and  when  I  enquired,  "May  I  send  an  invi- 
tation to  the  good  Abraham  Lincoln  to  come  down 
and  visit  you  ?"  one  thousand  little  black  hands  went 
up  with  a  shout.  Alas,  we  knew  not  that  at  that 


CIVIL  WAR  AND  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.     153 

very  hour  their  beloved  benefactor  was  lying  cold 
and  silent  in  the  East  room  at  Washington!  At 
Fortress  Monroe,  on  our  homeward  voyage,  the 
terrible  tidings  of  the  President's  assassination 
pierced  us  like  a  dagger,  on  the  wharf.  Near  the 
Fortress  poor  negro  women  had  hung  pieces  of 
coarse  black  muslin  around  every  little  huckster's 
tables.  "Yes,  sah,  Fathah  Lincum's  dead.  Dey 
killed  our  bes'  fren,  but  God  be  libben;  dey  can't 
kill  Him,  I's  sho  ob  dat."  Her  simple  child-like 
faith  seemed  to  reach  up  and  grasp  the  everlasting 
arm  which  had  led  Lincoln  while  leading  her  race 
"out  of  the  house  of  bondage." 

Upon  our  arrival  in  New  York,  we  found  the  city 
draped  in  black,  and  "the  mourners  going  about  the 
streets."  When  the  remains  of  the  murdered  Presi- 
dent reached  New  York  they  were  laid  in  state  in 
the  City  Hall  for  one  day  and  night,  and  during  that 
whole  night  the  procession  passed  the  coffin — never 
ceasing  for  a  moment.  Between  three  and  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning  I  took  my  family  there,  that 
they  might  see  the  face  of  our  beloved  martyr,  and 
we  had  to  take  our  place  in  a  line  as  far  away  as 
Park  Row.  It  is  impossible  to  give  any  adequate 
description  of  the  funeral — whose  like  was  never 
seen  before  or  since — when  eminent  authors,  clergy- 
men, judges  and  distinguished  civilians  walked  on 
foot  through  streets,  shrouded  in  black  to  the  house 


154       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

tops.  The  whole  journey  to  Springfield,  111.,  was 
one  constant  manifestation  of  poignant  grief.  The 
people  rose  in  the  night,  simply  to  see  the  funeral 
train  pass  by.  I  do  not  wonder  that  when  Emperor 
Alexander,  of  Russia  (who  was  himself  afterwards 
assassinated)  heard  the  tidings  of  our  President's 
death  from  an  American  Ambassador,  he  leaped 
from  his  chair,  and  exclaimed,  "Good  God,  can  it  be 
so  ?  He  was  the  noblest  man  alive." 

Thirty-seven  years  have  passed  away,  and  to-day 
while  our  nation  reveres  the  name  of  Washington,  as 

.  the  Father  of  his  Country ;  Abraham  Lincoln  is  the 
best  loved  man  that  ever  trod  this  continent.  The 
Almighty  educated  him  in  His  own  Providence  for 
his  high  mission.  The  "plain  people,"  as  he  called 
them,  were  his  University;  the  Bible  and  John 
Bunyan  were  his  earliest  text-books.  Sometimes 
his  familiarity  with  the  Scriptures  came  out  very 
amusingly  as  when  a  deputation  of  bankers  called 
on  him,  to  negotiate  for  a  loan  to  the  Government, 
and  one  of  them  said  to  him :  "You  know,  Mr. 
President,  where  the  treasure  is,  there  will  the  heart 
be  also."  "I  should  not  wonder,"  replied  Lincoln, 
"if  another  text  would  not  fit  the  case  better, 

1  'Where  the  carcass  is,  there  will  the  eagles  be 
gathered  together.'  "  His  innumerable  jests  con- 
tained more  wisdom  than  many  a  philosopher's 
maxims,  and  underneath  his  plebeian  simplicity, 


CIVIL  WAR  AND  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.     155 

dress  and  manners,  this  great  child  of  nature  pos- 
sessed the  most  delicate  instincts  of  the  perfect 
gentleman.  The  only  just  scale  by  which  to  meas- 
ure any  man  is  the  scale  of  actual  achievement; 
and  in  Lincoln's  case  some  of  the  most  essential 
instruments  had  to  be  fabricated  by  himself. 

The  first  account  in  the  measurement  of  the  man 
is  that  with  a  sublime  reliance  on  God,  he  conducted 
an  immense  nation  through  the  most  tremendous 
civil  war  ever  waged,  and  never  committed  a  single 
serious  mistake.  The  Illinois  backwoodsman  did 
not  possess  Hamilton's  brilliant  genius,  yet  Hamil- 
ton never  read  the  future  more  sagaciously.  He 
made  no  pretension  to  Webster's  magnificent  ora- 
tory ;  yet  Webster  never  put  more  truth  in  portable 
form  for  popular  guidance.  He  possessed  Benjamin 
Franklin's  immense  common  sense,  and  gift  of  terse 
proverbial  speech,  but  none  of  his  lusts  and  scepti- 
cal infirmities.  The  immortal  twenty-line  address 
at  Gettysburg  is  the  high  water  mark  of  sententious 
eloquence.  With  that  speech  should  be  placed  the 
pathetic  and  equally  perfect  letter  of  condolence  to 
Mrs.  Bixby  of  Boston  after  her  five  sons  had  fallen 
in  battle.  With  that  speech  also  should  be  read 
that  wonderful  second  Inaugural  address  which 
even  the  hostile  London  Times  pronounced  to  be 
the  most  sublime  state  paper  of  the  century.  This 
second  address — his  last  great  production — con- 


156      RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

tained  some  of  the  best  illustrations  of  his  fondness 
for  balanced  antithesis  and  rhythmical  measure- 
ment. There  is  one  sentence  which  may  be  rendered 
into  rhyme : 

"Fondly  do  we  hope, 
Fervently  do  we  pray 
That  this  mighty  scourge  of  war 
May  soon  pass  away." 

Terrible  as  was  the  tragedy  of  that  April  night, 
thirty-seven  years  ago,  it  may  be  still  true  that 
Lincoln  died  at  the  right  time  for  his  own  imperish- 
able fame.  It  was  fitting  that  his  own  precious 
blood  should  be  the  last  to  be  shed  in  the  stupendous 
struggle.  He  had  called  over  two  hundred  thousand 
heroes  to  lay  down  their  lives  and  then  his  own 
was  laid  down  beside  the  humblest  private  soldier, 
or  drummer  boy,  that  filled  the  sacred  mold  of 
Gettysburg  and  Chickamauga.  In  an  instant,  as  it 
were,  his  career  crystalized  into  that  pure  white 
fame  which  belongs  only  to  the  martyr  for  justice, 
law  and  liberty.  For  more  than  a  generation  his 
ashes  have  slumbered  in  his  beloved  home  at 
Springfield,  and  as  the  hearts  of  millions  of  the 
liberated  turn  toward  that  tomb,  they  may  well  say 
to  their  liberator:  "We  were  hungry  and  thou 
gavest  us  the  bread  of  sympathy;  we  were  thirsty 
for  liberty  and  thou  gavest  us  to  drink;  we  were 


CIVIL  WAR  AND  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.      157 

strangers,  and  thou  didst  take  us  in;  we  were  sick 
with  two  centuries  of  sorrow,  and  thou  didst  visit 
us ;  we  were  in  the  oppressive  house  of  bondage,  and 
thou  earnest  unto  us;"  and  the  response  of  Chris- 
tendom is :  "Well  done,  good  and  faithful  servant, 
enter  into  the  joy  of  the  Lord." 

In  closing  this  chapter  of  my  reminiscences,  I 
may  be  allowed  to  express  my  strong  conviction 
that  our  Congress,  impelled  by  generous  feeling,  and 
what  they  regarded  as  a  democratic  principle  of 
government,  committed  a  serious  error  in  bestowing 
the  right  of  suffrage  indiscriminately  upon  the  male 
negro  population  of  the  South.  A  man  who  had 
been  all  his  life  an  ignorant  "chattel  personal"  was 
suddenly  transformed  into  a  sovereign  elector.  In- 
stead of  this  precipitate  legislation,  it  would  have 
been  wiser  to  restrict  the  suffrage  to  those  who 
acquire  a  proper  education,  and  perhaps  also  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  taxable  property.  This  policy  would 
have  avoided  unhappy  friction  between  the  races, 
and,  what  is  more  important,  it  would  have  offered 
a  powerful  inducement  to  every  colored  man  to  fit 
himself  for  the  honor  and  grave  responsibility  of 
full  citizenship.  At  this  time  one  of  the  noblest 
efforts  made  by  wise  philanthropy  is  that  of  educat- 
ing, elevating  and  evangelizing  our  colored  fellow 
countrymen  of  the  South.  To  help  the  negro  to  help 
himself,  is  the  key-note  of  these  efforts.  The  time  is 


158       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

coming — yea,  it  has  come  already — when  to  the 
name  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  the  grateful  negro  will 
add  the  names  of  their  best  benefactor,  General 
Samuel  C.  Armstrong  (the  founder  of  Hampton 
Institute)  and  Booker  T.  Washington. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

PASTORAL  WORK. 

THE  work  of  the  faithful  minister  covers  all  the 
round  week.  On  the  one  day  he  teaches  his  people  in 
the  house  of  God,  on  the  remaining  days  he  teaches 
and  guides  them  in  their  own  houses  and  wherever 
he  may  happen  to  meet  them.  His  labors,  therefore, 
are  twofold;  the  work  of  the  preacher  and  the 
work  of  the  pastor.  The  two  ought  to  be  insepa- 
rable ;  what  the  Providence  of  God  and  good  com- 
mon sense  have  joined  together  let  no  man  venture 
to  put  asunder.  The  great  business  of  every  true 
minister  is  the  winning  of  souls  to  Jesus  Christ,  and 
to  bring  them  up  in  godly  living.  In  other  words, 
to  make  bad  men  good,  and  good  men  better.  All 
this  cannot  be  accomplished  by  two  sermons  a  week, 
even  if  they  were  the  best  that  Paul  himself  could 
deliver;  in  fact,  the  best  part  of  Paul's  recorded 
work  was  quite  other  than  public  preaching.  As 
for  our  blessed  Master,  He  has  left  one  extended 
discourse  and  a  few  shorter  ones,  but  oh,  how  many 
narratives  we  have  of  His  personal  visits,  personal 
conversation  and  labors  of  love  with  the  sick,  the 
sinning,  and  the  suffering!  He  was  the  shepherd 


160       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

who  knew  every  sheep  in  the  flock.     The  import- 
ance of  all  that  portion  of  a  minister's  work  that 
lies  outside  of  his  pulpit  can  hardly  be  overesti- 
mated.    The  great  element  of  power  with  every 
faithful  ambassador  of  Christ  should  be  heart-power 
and  the  secret  of  popularity  is  to  take  an  interest  in 
everybody.     A  majority  of  all  congregations,  rich 
or  poor,  is  reached,  not  so  much  through  the  intel- 
lect as  through  the  affections.    This  is  an  encourag- 
ing fact,  that  while  only  one  man  in  ten  may  have 
been  born  to  become  a  very  great  preacher,  the  other 
nine,  if  they  love  their  Master  and  love  human  souls, 
can    become    great    pastors.       Nothing    gives    a 
minister  such  heart-power  as  personal  acquaintance 
and  personal  attention  to  those  whom  he  aims  to 
influence;  especially  his  personal  attention  will  be 
welcome  in  seasons  of  trial.     Let  the  pastor  make 
himself  at  home  in  everybody's  home.    Let  him  go 
often  to  visit  their  sick  rooms  and  kneel  beside  their 
empty  cribs,  and  comfort  their  broken  hearts,  and 
pray  with  them.    Let  him  go  to  the  business  men  of 
his  congregation  when  they  have  suffered  reverses, 
and  give  them  a  word  of  cheer ;  let  him  be  quick  to 
recognize  the  poor  and  the  children,  and  he  will 
weave  a  cord  around  the  hearts  of  his  people  that 
will  stand  a  prodigious  pressure.    His  inferior  ser- 
mons (for  every  minister  is  guilty  of  such  occasion- 
ally) will  be  kindly  condoned,  and  he  can  launch  the 


PASTORAL  WORK.  161 

most  pungent  truths  at  his  auditors,  and  they  will 
not  take  offense.  He  will  have  won  their  hearts  to 
himself,  and  that  is  a  great  step  toward  drawing 
them  to  the  house  of  God  and  winning  their  souls 
to  the  Saviour.  "A  house-going  minister,"  said 
Chalmers,  "makes  a  church-going  people."  There 
is  still  one  other  potent  argument  for  close  inter- 
course with  his  congregation  that  many  ministers 
are  in  danger  of  ignoring  or  underestimating. 
James  Russell  Lowell  has  somewhere  said  that 
books  are,  at  best,  but  dry  fodder,  and  that  we  need 
to  be  vitalized  by  contact  with  living  people.  The 
best  practical  discourses  often  are  those  which  a 
congregation  help  their  minister  to  prepare.  By 
constant  and  loving  intercourse  with  the  individuals 
of  his  church  he  becomes  acquainted  with  their 
peculiarities,  and  this  enlarges  his  knowledge  of 
human  nature.  It  is  second  only  to  a  knowledge  of 
God's  Word.  If  a  minister  is  a  wise  man  (and 
neither  God  nor  man  has  any  use  for  fools)  he  will 
be  made  wiser  by  the  lessons  and  suggestions  which 
he  can  gain  from  constant  and  c  lose  intercouse  with 
the  immortal  beings  to  whom  he  preaches. 

In  Dundee,  Scotland,  I  conversed  with  a  gray- 
headed  member  of  St.  Peter's  Presbyterian  Church 
who,  in  his  youth,  listened  to  the  sainted  Robert 
Murray  McCheyne.  He  spoke  of  him  with  the 
deepest  reverence  and  love;  but  the  one  thing  that 


162      RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

he  remembered  after  forty-six  years  was  that  Mr. 
McCheyne,  a  few  days  before  his  death,  met  him  on 
the  street  and,  laying  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  said 
to  him  kindly :  "Jamie,  I  hope  it  is  well  with  your 
soul.  How  is  your  sick  sister?  I  am  going  to  see 
her  again  shortly."  That  sentence  or  two  had 
stuck  to  the  old  Christian  for  over  forty  years.  It 
had  grappled  his  pastor  to  him,  and  this  little  narra- 
tive gave  me  a  fresh  insight  into  McCheyne's  won- 
derful power.  His  ministry  was  most  richly  suc- 
cessful, and  largely  because  he  kept  in  touch  with 
his  people,  and  was  a  great  pastor  as  well  as  a  great 
preacher. 

I  determined  from  the  very  start  in  my  ministry 
that  I  would  be  a  thorough  pastor.  A  very  cele- 
brated preacher  once  said  to  me :  "I  envy  you  your 
love  for  pastoral  work,  I  would  not  do  it  if  I  could, 
I  could  not  do  it  if  I  would ;  for  a  single  hour  with  a 
family  in  trouble  uses  up  more  of  my  vitality  than 
to  prepare  a  sermon."  My  reply  to  him  was :  "That 
may  be  true,  but,  after  all,  the  business  of  a  minister 
is  to  endure  these  strains  upon  his  nervous  system 
if  he  would  be  a  comforter,  as  well  as  the  teacher 
of  his  people.'1 

My  practice  was  this :  I  devoted  the  forenoon  of 
every  day,  except  Monday,  to  the  preparation  of  my 
discourses.  My  motto  was:  "Study  God's  Word  in 
the  morning,  and  door-plates  in  the  afternoon."  I 


PASTORAL  WORK.  163 

found  the  physical  exercise  in  itself  a  benefit,  and 
the  spiritual  benefits  were  ten-fold  more.  I  secured 
and  kept  a  complete  record  of  the  whereabouts  of 
all  my  congregation  and  requested  from  the  pulpit 
that  prompt  information  be  given  me  of  any  change 
of  residence,  and  also  of  any  case  of  sickness  or 
trouble  of  any  kind.  I  encouraged  my  people  to 
send  me  word  when  there  was  any  case  of  religious 
interest  in  their  families  or  any  matter  of  importance 
to  discuss  with  me.  In  short,  I  endeavored  to  treat 
my  flock  exactly  as  though  they  were  my  own 
family,  and  to  be  perfectly  at  home  in  their  homes. 
I  managed  to  visit  every  family  at  least  once  in  each 
year  and  as  much  oftener  as  circumstances  required. 
As  I  had  no  "loafing"  places,  I  easily  got  through 
my  congregation,  which,  in  Brooklyn,  numbered 
several  hundreds  of  families. 

Spurgeon  had  an  assistant  pastor  for  his  immense 
flock,  but  he  made  it  a  rule  to  visit  the  sick  or  dying 
on  as  many  occasions  as  possible.  He  once  said 
from  his  pulpit :  "I  have  been  this  week  to  visit  two 
of  my  church  members  who  were  near  Eternity,  and 
both  of  them  were  as  happy  as  if  they  were  going  to 
a  wedding.  Oh,  it  makes  me  preach  like  a  lion  when 
I  see  how  my  people  can  die." 

It  was  always  my  custom  to  take  a  particular 
neighborhood,  and  to  call  upon  every  parishioner  in 
that  street,  or  district,  but  I  seldom  found  it  wise  to 


164       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

send  word  in  advance  to  any  family,  that  I  would 
visit  them  on  a  certain  day  or  hour,  for  I  might  be 
prevented  from  going,  and  thus  subject  them  to  dis- 
appointment ;  consequently,  I  had  to  run  the  risk  of 
finding  them  at  home.  If  they  were  out  I  left  my 
card,  and  tried  again  at  another  time.  In  calling  on 
my  people  unawares,  I  found  it  depended  upon  my- 
self to  secure  a  cordial  welcome,  for  I  went  in  with 
a  hearty  salutation  and  asked  them  to  allow  me  to 
sit  down  with  them  wherever  they  were,  regardless 
of  dress  or  ceremony,  and  soon  I  found  myself  per- 
fectly at  home  with  them.  No  one  should  be  so 
welcome  as  a  faithful  pastor.  I  encouraged  them  to 
talk  about  the  affairs  of  our  church,  about  the  Sab- 
bath services,  and  the  truths  preached,  and  the  in- 
fluences that  Sabbath  messages  were  having  upon 
them.  In  this  way  I  have  discovered  whether  or 
not  the  shots  were  striking;  for  the  gunnery  that 
hits  no  one  is  not  worth  the  powder. 

Fishing  for  compliments  is  beneath  any  man  of 
common  sense,  but  it  does  cheer  the  pastor's  heart 
to  be  told,  "Your  sermon  last  Sunday  brought  me 
a  great  blessing;  it  helped  me  all  the  week."  Or 
better  still,  "Your  sermon  brought  me  to  decide  for 
Christ."  In  a  careful  and  delicate  way,  I  drew  out 
our  people  in  regard  to  their  spiritual  condition,  and 
if  I  found  that  any  member  of  the  family  was 
anxious  about  his  or  her  soul,  I  managed  to  have 


PASTORAL  WORK.  165 

a  private  and  unreserved  conversation  with  that 
person.  It  is  well  for  every  minister  to  be  careful 
how  he  guards  the  confidence  reposed  in  him.  The 
family  physician  and  the  family  pastor  often  have 
to  know  some  things  they  do  not  like  to  know,  but 
they  never  should  allow  any  one  else  to  know 
them. 

This  intimate,  personal  intercourse  with  my  flock 
enabled  me  more  than  once  to  bring  the  undecided 
to  a  decision  for  Christ.  In  dealing  with  such  cases, 
whether  in  the  home  or  in  the  inquiry-room,  I  aimed 
to  discover  just  what  hindrance  was  in  the  path  of 
each  awakened  soul.  It  is  a  great  point  also  for 
such  a  one  to  discover  what  it  is  that  keeps  him  or 
her  from  surrendering  to  Christ.  If  it  be  some 
habit  or  some  evil  practice,  that  must  be  given  up ; 
if  some  heart  sin,  that  we  must  yield,  even  if  it  be 
like  plucking  out  an  eye  or  lopping  off  a  right  hand. 
It  was  my  aim,  and  ever  has  been,  to  convince  every 
awakened  person  that  unless  he  or  she  was  willing 
to  give  the  heart  to  Jesus  and  to  do  His  will  there 
was  no  hope  for  them.  We  must  shut  every  soul 
up  to  Christ. 

I  requested  my  people  to  inform  me  promptly  of 
every  case  of  serious  sickness,  and  I  could  never  be 
too  prompt  in  responding  to  such  a  call.  However 
busy  I  might  be  in  preparing  sermons  or  any  com- 
mendable occupation  everything  else  was  laid  aside. 


166      RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

For  a  pastor  should  be  as  quick  to  respond  to  a  call 
of  sickness  as  an  ambulance  is  to  reach  the  scene  of 
disaster.  I  sometimes  found  that  a  parishioner  had 
been  suddenly  attacked  with  dangerous  illness  and 
even  my  entrance  in  the  sick  room  might  agitate  the 
patient.  At  such  times  I  found  it  necessary  to  use 
all  the  tact  and  delicacy  and  discretion  at  my  com- 
mand. I  would  never  needlessly  endanger  a  sick 
person  by  efforts  to  guide  or  console  an  immortal 
spirit.  I  aimed  to  make  my  words  few,  calm  and 
tender,  and  make  every  syllable  to  point  toward 
Jesus  Christ.  Whoever  the  sufferer  may  be,  saint 
or  sinner,  his  failing  vision  should  be  directed  to 
"no  man  save  Jesus  only."  It  is  not  commonly  the 
office  of  the  pastor  to  tell  the  patient  that  his  or  her 
disease  is  assuredly  fatal,  but  if  we  know  that  death 
is  near,  in  the  name  of  the  Master,  let  us  be  faithful 
as  well  as  tender. 

There  are  many  cases  of  extreme  and  critical  ill- 
ness when  the  presence  of  even  the  most  loving  pas- 
tor may  be  an  unwise  intrusion.  An  excellent 
Christian  lady  who  had  been  twice  apparently  on 
the  brink*  of  death  said  to  me :  "Never  enter  the 
room  of  a  person  who  is  extremely  low,  unless  the 
person  urgently  requests  you  to,  or  unless  spiritual 
necessity  absolutely  compels  it.  You  have  no  idea 
how  the  sight  of  a  new  face  agitates  the  sufferer, 
and  how  you  may  unconsciously  and  unintentionally 


PASTORAL  WORK.  167 

rob  that  sufferer  of  the  little  life  that  is  fluttering  in 
the  feeble  frame."  I  felt  grateful  to  the  good 
woman  for  her  advice,  and  have  often  acted  upon  it, 
when  the  family  have  unwisely  importuned  me  to 
do  what  would  have  been  more  harmful  than  bene- 
ficial. On  some  occasions,  when  I  have  found  a  sick 
room  crowded  by  well-meaning  but  needless  in- 
truders, I  have  taken  the  liberty  to  "put  them  all 
forth,"  as  our  Master  did  in  that  chamber  in  which 
the  daughter  of  Jairus  was  in  the  death  slumber. 

A  great  portion  of  the  time  and  attention  which 
I  bestowed  upon  the  sick  was  spent  on  chronic 
sufferers,  who  had  been  confined  to  their  beds  of 
weariness  for  months  or  years.  I  visited  them  as 
often  as  possible.  Some  of  those  bedridden 
sufferers  were  prisoners  of  Jesus  Christ,  who  did 
me  quite  as  much  good  as  I  could  possibly  do  them. 
What  eloquent  sermons  they  preached  to  me  on  the 
beauty  of  submissive  patience  and  on  the  supporting 
power  of  the  "Everlasting  arms !"  Such  interviews 
strengthened  my  faith,  softened  my  heart,  and  in- 
fused into  it  something  of  the  spirit  of  Him  who 
"Took  our  infirmities  and  bore  our  sicknesses." 
McCheyne,  of  Dundee,  said  that  before  preaching 
on  the  Sabbath  he  sometimes  visited  some  parish- 
ioner, who  might  be  lying  extremely  low,  for  he 
found  it  good  "to  take  a  look  over  the  verge." 

In  my  pastoral  rounds  I  sometimes  had  an  oppor- 


i68      RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

tunity  to  do  more  execution  in  a  single  talk  than  in 
a  score  of  sermons.  I  once  spent  an  evening  in  a 
vain  endeavor  to  bring  a  man  to  a  decision  for 
Christ.  Before  I  left,  he  took  me  up-stairs  to  the 
nursery,  and  showed  me  his  beautiful  children  in 
their  cribs.  I  said  to  him  tenderly :  "Do  you  mean 
that  these  sweet  children  shall  never  have  any  help 
from  their  father  to  get  to  Heaven  ?"  He  was  deep- 
ly moved,  and  in  a  month  that  man  became  an  active 
member  of  my  church.  He  was  glued  to  me  in 
affection  for  all  the  remainder  of  his  useful  life. 
On  a  cold  winter  evening  I  made  a  call  on  a  wealthy 
merchant  in  New  York.  As  I  left  his  door,  and  the 
piercing  gale  swept  in  I  said,  "What  an  awful  night 
for  the  poor !"  He  went  back,  and  bringing  to  me  a 
roll  of  bank  bills,  he  said :  "Please  hand  these,  for 
me,  to  the  poorest  people  you  know  of."  After  a 
few  days  I  wrote  to  him,  sending  him  the  grateful 
thanks  of  the  poor  whom  his  bounty  had  relieved, 
and  added :  "How  is  it  that  a  man  who  is  so  kind 
to  his  fellow  creatures  has  always  been  so  unkind  to 
his  Saviour  as  to  refuse  Him  his  heart?"  That 
sentence  touched  him  in  the  core.  He  sent  for  me 
immediately  to  come  and  converse  with  him.  He 
speedily  gave  his  heart  to  Christ,  united  with,  and 
became  a  most  useful  member  of  our  church.  But 
he  told  me  I  was  the  first  person  who  had  ever 
spoken  to  him  about  his  spiritual  welfare  in  nearly 


PASTORAL  WORK.  169 

twenty  years.  In  the  case  of  this  eminently  effec- 
tive and  influential  Christian,  one  hour  of  pastoral 
work  did  more  than  the  pulpit  efforts  of  almost  a 
lifetime. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

SOME  FAMOUS  PREACHERS  IN  BRITAIN. 

Binney. — Hamilton. — Guthrie. — Hall. — Spurgeon. 
— Duff  and  others. 

IN  attempting  to  recall  my  recollections  of  the 
eminent  preachers  whom  I  have  known,  I  hardly 
know  where  to  begin,  or  where  to  call  a  halt.  I 
shall  confine  myself  entirely  to  those  who  are  no 
longer  living,  except  as  they  may  live  in  the  memory 
of  the  service  they  wrought  for  their  Divine  Master 
and  their  fellow  men.  When  I  first  visited  Lon- 
don, in  early  September,  1842,  the  two  ministers 
most  widely  known  to  Americans  were  Henry  Mel- 
vill  and  Thomas  Binney.  Melvill  was  the  most 
popular  preacher  in  the  Established  Church.  His 
place  of  worship  was  out  at  Camberwell,  and  I 
found  it  so  packed  that  I  had  to  get  a  seat  on  one  of 
the  steps  in  the  gallery.  He  was  a  man  of  elegant 
bearing,  and  rolled  out  his  ornate  sentences  in  a 
somewhat  theatrical  tone,  but  the  hushed  audience 
drank  in  every  syllable  greedily.  The  splendid  and 

thoroughly  evangelical   sermons   which  he  orated 
170 


SOME  FAMOUS  PREACHERS  IN  BRITAIN.   171 

most  carefully  were  exceedingly  popular  in  those 
days,  and  even  yet  they  are  well  worth  reading  as 
superb  specimens  of  lofty,  devout  and  resonant  ora- 
tory. On  a  very  warm  Sabbath  evening  I  went  into 
the  business  end  of  London  to  the  "Weigh  House 
Chapel"  and  heard  Dr.  Thomas  Binney.  He  was  the 
leader  of  Congregationalism,  as  Melvill  was  of  the 
Church  of  England.  On  that  warm  evening  the 
audience  was  small,  but  the  discourse  was  pro- 
digiously large.  Binney  had  a  kingly  countenance, 
and  a  most  unique  delivery.  His  topic  was  Psalm 
I47th,  3d  and  4th  verses.  "God  is  the  Creator  of 
the  universe,  and  the  comforter  of  the  sorrowing." 
He  thrust  one  hand  into  his  breeches  pocket,  and 
then  ran  his  other  hand  through  his  hair,  and  began 
his  sermon  with  the  stirring  words :  "The  Jew  has 
conquered  the  world!"  This  was  the  prelude  to  a 
grand  eulogy  of  the  Psalms  of  David.  He  then  un- 
folded the  first  part  of  his  text  in  a  most  original 
style,  made  a  long  pause,  scratched  his  head  again, 
and  said :  "Now  then,  let  us  take  some  new 
thoughts,  and  then  we  are  done."  The  closing 
portion  of  the  rich  discourse  was  on  the  tender  con- 
solations of  our  Heavenly  Father. 

Thirty  years  afterwards  Dr.  Binney  was  invited 
to  meet  me  at  breakfast  at  the  house  of  Dr.  Hall, 
with  "Tom  Hughes,"  Dr.  Henry  Allon  and  other 
notabilities.  The  noble  veteran  chatted  verv 


172       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

serenely,  and  offered  a  most  majestic  prayer  while 
he  remained  sitting  in  his  arm-chair.  His  physical 
disabilities  made  it  difficult  for  him  to  stand;  and 
very  soon  afterwards  the  grand  old  man  went  up 
to  his  crown.  When  I  was  spending  two  delightful 
days  with  Dr.  McLaren,  of  Manchester,  I  described 
to  him  Binney's  remarkable  sermon.  "Were  you 
there  that  night?"  inquired  McLaren.  "So  was  I, 
and  though  only  a  boy  of  sixteen,  I  remember  the 
whole  of  that  discourse  to  this  hour."  It  was  cer- 
tainly a  rare  pulpit  power  that  could  fasten  a  dis- 
course in  two  different  memories  for  a  whole  half 
century. 

Do  many  of  the  Londoners  of  this  day  remember 
Dr.  James  Hamilton,  the  pastor  of  the  Presbyterian 
Church  in  Regent's  Square?  They  should  do  so, 
for  in  his  time  he  was  the  most  popular  devotional 
writer  of  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic ;  and  during  my 
visit  to  London,  in  1857,  I  was  very  happy  to  form 
his  acquaintance.  He  was  a  most  cordial  and 
charming  man,  slender,  tall,  with  dark  eyes  and 
hair,  and  a  beaming  countenance.  When  one 
entered  Hamilton's  study  he  would  hurry  forward, 
seize  his  hands,  and  taking  both  in  his,  reply  to  your 
"How  do  you  do,  sir,"  with  "Come  in,  come  in ;  I 
am  nicely,  I  assure  ye."  Would  that  all  ministers 
were  as  cordial  and  approachable.  When  I  attended 
his  church  in  Regent  Square  they  were  singing, 


SOME  FAMOUS  PREACHERS  IN  BRITAIN.  173 

when  I  came  in,  a  Psalm  from  the  old  Scotch  Ver- 
sion. The  choristers  sat  in  a  desk  below  the  pulpit. 
The  singing  was  general  through  the  church,  and 
excellent  in  style.  Dr.  Hamilton  preached  in  a 
gown,  and,  as  the  heat  grew  oppressive  in  the  middle 
of  his  sermon,  threw  it  off.  The  discourse  was  de- 
livered with  extremely  awkward  gestures,  but  in  a 
voice  of  great  sweetness.  The  text  was :  "My  soul 
thirsteth  for  the  Living  God."  He  described  an 
arid  wilderness,  hot  and  parched,  and  down  beneath 
it  a  mighty  vein  of  water  into  which  an  artesian 
well  was  bored,  and  forthwith  the  waters  gushed  up 
through  it  and  swept  over  all  the  dry  desert,  making 
it  one  emerald  meadow.  "So,"  said  he,  "it  is  the  in- 
carnate Jesus  flowing  up  through  our  own  dusty, 
barren  desert  humanity,  and  overflowing  us  with 
Heavenly  life  and  grace,  until  what  was  once  dreary 
and  dead  becomes  a  fruitful  garden  of  the  Lord." 
The  discourse  was  like  a  chapter  from  one  of  Hamil- 
ton's savory  volumes.  Five  years  afterwards,  I  dined 
with  Hamilton,  and  the  Rev.  William  Arnot  (who 
afterwards  was  his  biographer),  and  I  went  to  his 
church  to  deliver  the  preparatory  discourse  to  the 
sacrament  on  the  next  Sabbath. 

On  my  way  up  to  London,  I  halted  one  night  at 
Birmingham,  and  while  out  on  a  stroll,  came  upon 
the  City  Hall,  which  was  crowded  with  a  great 
meeting  in  aid  of  foreign  missions.  The  heroic 


174       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

Robert  Moffat,  the  Apostle  of  South  Africa,  was 
addressing  the  multitude,  who  cheered  him  in  the 
old  English  fashion.  Two  years  before  that,  Robert 
Moffat  had  met  a  young  man  in  a  boarding  house 
in  Aldersgate  Street,  London,  and  induced  him  to 
become  a  missionary  in  Africa.  The  young  man 
was  the  sublimest  of  all  modern  missionaries,  David 
Livingstone.  Two  years  after  that  evening,  Living- 
stone married  Miss  Mary  Moffat  (daughter  of  the 
man  to  whom  I  was  listening) ,  in  South  Africa,  and 
she  became  the  sharer  of  his  trials  and  explorations. 
After  Moffat  had  concluded  his  speech,  a  broad- 
shouldered,  merry-faced  man,  with  thick  grey  hair 
rose  on  the  platform.  "Who  is  that  ?"  I  inquired  of 
my  next  neighbor.  With  a  look  of  surprise  that  I 
should  ask  such  a  question  in  Birmingham, 
he  said:  "It  is  John  Angell  James."  He 
was  the  man  whom  Dr.  Cox  wittily  described  as 
"An  angel  vinculated  between  two  Apostles."  He 
spoke  very  forcibly,  in  a  hearty,  humorous  vein,  and 
I  could  hardly  understand  how  such  a  jovial  old 
gentleman  could  be  the  author  of  such  a  serious 
work  as  "The  Anxious  Inquirer."  But  I  have  since 
discovered  that  many  of  the  most  solemn  and  im- 
pressive preachers  were  men  of  most  cheery  temper- 
ament who  could  laugh  heartily  themselves  when 
they  were  not  making  other  people  weep.  Mr. 
James  looked  like  an  old  sea  captain ;  but  he  was  an 


SOME  FAMOUS  PREACHERS  IN  BRITAIN.  175 

admirable  pilot  of  awakened  souls,  whom  thousands 
will  bless  through  all  eternity. 

Dr.  Thomas  Guthrie,  of  Edinburgh,  was  once 
pronounced  by  the  London  Times  to  be  "The  most 
eloquent  man  in  Europe."  Ruskin,  Thackeray, 
Macaulay,  and  other  men  of  renown  joined  in  the 
crowd  that  thronged  St.  John's  Church  when  they 
were  in  Edinburgh ;  and  a  highland  drover  was  once 
so  excited  that  in  the  middle  of  a  powerful  sermon 
he  called  out :  "Naw,  sirs,  heard  ye  ever  the  like  o' 
that?"  My  good  wife  made  a  run  to  Edinburgh 
while  I  was  stopping  behind  in  England,  and  on  her 
return  to  me  almost  her  first  word  was,  "I  have  heard 
Guthrie ;  I  am  spoiled  for  every  one  else  as  long  as 
I  live."  Guthrie,  "Lang  Tarn"  (as  the  toughs  on 
the  "Cowgate"  in  Edinburgh  used  to  call  him),  was 
built  for  a  great  orator.  He  was  more  than  six  feet 
high,  and  would  be  picked  out  in  any  crowd  as  one 
of  God's  royal  family.  I  once  said  to  him :  "You 
remind  us  Americans  of  our  famous  statesman, 
Henry  Clay."  There  was  a  striking  resemblance  in 
the  long-armed  figure,  the  broad  mouth  and  lofty 
brow,  and  still  more  in  the  rich  melody  of  voice, 
and  magnetic  rush  of  electric  eloquence.  "There 
must  certainly  be  a  personal  likeness,"  replied  the 
Doctor,  "for  not  long  ago  I  went  into  the  house  of 
Mr.  Norris,  who  came  here  from  America,  and  said 
to  myself,  'There  is  my  portrait  on  the  wall/  but 


176       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

when  I  came  nearer  I  espied  under  it  the  name  of 
'Henry  Clay.'  "  He  used  to  say  that  in  preaching 
he  aimed  at  the  three  P's:  Prove,  Paint  and 
Persuade.  His  painting  with  the  tongue  was  as 
vivid  as  Rembrandt's  painting  with  the  brush. 
When  I  went  to  Edinburgh,  in  1872,  as  a  delegate 
to  the  two  Presbyterian  General  Assemblies,  Dr. 
Guthrie  invited  me  to  dine  with  him,  and  the  gifted 
Dr.  John  Ker,  of  Glasgow,  was  in  the  company. 
After  dinner,  Guthrie  literally  took  the  floor,  and 
poured  out  a  flow  of  charming  talk,  interspersed 
with  racy  Scotch  anecdotes.  Among  others  told  was 
one  about  the  old  Highland  woman  who  said  to 
him :  "Doctor,  nane  of  your  modern  improvements 
for  me.  I  want  naething  but  good  old  Dauvid's 
Psalms,  and  I  want  'em  all  sung  to  Dauvid's  tunes, 
too."  On  the  evening  when  I  addressed  the  Free 
Church  Assembly,  I  was  obliged  to  pass,  on  my  way 
to  the  platform,  the  front  bench,  on  which  sat  the 
veteran  missionary,  Alexander  Duff,  Principal 
Rainy,  William  Arnot,  Dr.  Guthrie  and  two  or  three 
other  celebrities.  I  have  not  run  such  a  gauntlet 
on  a  single  bench  in  my  life.  When  I  had  finished 
my  address,  Guthrie,  clad  in  his  gray  overcoat, 
leaped  up,  and  kindly  grasped  my  hand,  and  I  went 
back  to  my  seat  feeling  an  indescribable  relief.  Dr. 
Guthrie  a  short  time  after  attempted  to  visit  our 
country,  but  was  arrested  at  Queenstown  by  a  diffi- 


SOME  FAMOUS  PREACHERS  IN  BRITAIN.   177 

culty  of  the  heart,  and  returned  to  Scotland,  and 
lived  but  a  short  time  afterwards. 

My  personal  acquaintance  with  Newman  Hall 
began  during  the  darkest  period  of  our  Civil  War, 
in  August,  1862.  Up  to  that  time  I  had  only  known 
him  as  the  author  of  that  pithy  and  pellucid  little 
booklet,  "Come  to  Jesus,"  which  has  belted  the 
globe  in  forty  languages,  and  been  published  to  the 
number  of  nearly  4,000,000  of  copies.  When  our 
Civil  War  broke  out,  Dr.  Hall  (with  John  Bright 
and  Foster  and  Goldwin  Smith)  threw  himself 
earnestly  on  the  side  of  our  Union.  He  made  pub- 
lic speeches  for  our  cause  over  all  England,  and 
opened  his  house  for  parlor  meetings  addressed  by 
loyal  Americans  who  happened  to  be  in  London. 
He  invited  me  to  address  one  of  these  gatherings, 
but  the  necessity  of  my  return  home  prevented  my 
acceptance.  Two  years  after  the  close  of  the  war 
he  made  his  first  visit  to  the  United  States.  He 
was  received  with  enthusiastic  ovations.  Union 
Leagues  gave  him  public  welcomes,  Congress  in- 
vited him  to  preach  in  the  House  of  Representatives ; 
he  delivered  an  address  to  the  Bostonians  on  Bunker 
Hill ;  and  every  denomination,  including  the  Episco- 
palians and  Quakers,  opened  their  pulpits  to  him 
everywhere.  But  the  crowning  act  of  his  unique 
Americanism  was  the  erection  of  the  "Lincoln^ 
Tower"  on  his  Church  in  London,  as  a  tribute  to 


178       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

Negro  Emancipation,  and  a  memorial  to  Interna- 
tional amity.  The  love  that  existed  between  my 
brother,  Dr.  Hall,  and  myself  was  like  the  love  of 
David  and  Jonathan.  The  letters  that  passed  be- 
tween us  would  number  up  into  the  hundreds ;  and 
his  epistles  had  the  sweet  savor  of  "Holy  Ruther- 
ford." When  he  was  in  America,  my  house  was  his 
home ;  when  I  was  in  London,  I  spent  no  small  part 
of  my  time  in  his  delightful  "Vine  House,"  up  on 
Hampstead  Hill.  The  house  remains  in  the  posses- 
sion of  his  wife,  a  lady  of  high  culture,  intellectual 
gifts  and  of  most  devout  piety.  One  reason  for  the 
close  intimacy  between  my  British  brother  and  my- 
self was  that  we  were  perfectly  agreed  on  every 
social,  civil  and  religious  question,  and  we  never 
had  a  chance  to  sharpen  our  wits  on  the  hone  of 
controversy.  Our  theology  was  all  from  the  same 
Book,  and  our  main  purposes  in  life  were  similar. 
Many  of  my  American  readers  heard  Dr.  Hall 
preach  during  some  one  of  his  three  visits  to  the 
United  States.  What  marrowy,  soul-quickening 
sermons  he  poured  forth  in  a  clear,  musical  voice, 
and  with  a  most  earnest  persuasiveness.  Preaching 
was  as  easy  to  him  as  breathing.  Including  the 
Sabbath,  he  delivered  seven  or  eight  sermons  in  a 
week.  Undoubtedly  he  delivered  more  discourses 
than  any  ordained  minister  during  the  nineteenth 
century.  Peers  and  peasants,  scholars  and  dwellers 


SOME  FAMOUS  PREACHERS  IN  BRITAIN.  179 

in  the  slums  alike  enjoyed  his  preaching  of  God's 
message  to  immortal  souls.  His  favorite  theme  was 
the  sin-atoning  work  of  Christ  Jesus ;  and  the  num- 
bers converted  under  his  faithful  preaching  were 
exceedingly  great.  One  of  his  discourses  in  this 
country  on  "Jehovah  Jireh,"  was  especially  helpful, 
and  one  on  "Touching  the  Hem  of  Christ's  Gar- 
ment," was  a  gem  of  spiritual  beauty.  He  gener- 
ally maintained  an  even  flow  of  evangelical  thought, 
but  sometimes  he  rose  into  a  burst  of  thrilling  elo- 
quence, as  he  did  in  Mr.  Beecher's  church,  when 
he  made  his  noble  appeal  for  Union  between  Eng- 
land and  America.  From  his  youth  he  was  fond  of 
street  preaching.  I  have  seen  him  gather  a  crowd, 
and  hold  them  attentively  while  he  sowed  a  few 
seeds  of  truth  in  their  hearts. 

I  wish  I  had  the  space  to  describe  some  of  the 
foregatherings  that  I  have  had  with  my  twin  brother 
in  the  Gospel.  We  visited  Italy  together,  preached 
to  "the  Saints  that  are  in  Rome,"  and  went  down 
into  that  room  in  the  sub-basement  of  St.  Clement's 
where  Paul  is  believed  to  have  held  meetings  with 
them  that  were  of  Caesar's  household.  We  roamed 
out  on  the  Appian  Road,  over  which  the  great 
Apostle  entered  the  Eternal  City.  So  conscientious 
was  my  brother  Hall  in  his  teetotalism  that  though 
tired  and  thirsty,  he  never  would  touch  the  weak, 
common  wine  of  the  country,  lest  his  example  might 


i8o       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

be  plead  in  favor  of  the  drinking  usages.  We  once 
went  up  to  Olney  and  sat  in  Cowper's  summer 
house,  and  entered  John  Newton's  church,  and  the 
old  sexton  told  Dr.  Hall  that  he  had  been  converted 
by  "Come  to  Jesus."  We  went  together  to  Stone- 
henge,  and  as  we  passed  over  Salisbury  Plain  we 
recalled  Hannah  Moore's  famous  shepherd  who 
said:  "The  weather  to-morrow  will  be  what  suits 
me,  for  what  suits  God,  suits  me  always."  We 
spent  a  very  delightful  couple  of  days  in  rowing 
down  the  romantic  river  Wye,  stopping  for  lunch 
at  Wordsworth's  Tintern  Abbey.  In  his  home  he 
was  a  hospitable  Gaius,  with  open  doors  and  hearts 
to  friends  from  all  lands.  He  had  the  merry 
sportiveness  of  a  schoolboy,  and  when  our  long 
talks  in  his  study  were  over,  he  would  seize  his  hat 
and  the  chain  of  his  pet  dog,  and  cry  out :  "Come, 
brother,  come,  and  let  us  have  a  tramp  over  the 
Heath."  He  was  a  prodigious  pedestrian,  and  at 
three  score  and  ten  he  held  his  own  over  a  Swiss 
glacier,  with  the  members  of  the  Alpine  Club.  He 
had  hoped  to  equal  his  famous  predecessor,  Rowland 
Hill,  and  preach  till  he  was  ninety ;  but  when  he  was 
near  his  eighty-sixth  birthday  he  was  stricken  with 
paralysis,  and  never  left  his  bed  again.  Those  last 
two  weeks  were  spent  in  the  "Land  of  Beulah,"  and 
in  full  view  of  "The  Celestial  City."  When  asked 
if  he  suffered  pain,  he  replied :  "I  have  no  pain,  and 


SOME  FAMOUS  PREACHERS  IN  BRITAIN,  i&i 

nothing  to  disturb  the  solemnity  of  dying."  On 
the  morning  of  February  fourteenth  he  passed 
peacefully  over  the  river,  and,  as  Bunyan  said  of 
old  Valiant-  for-the-Truth,  "The  trumpets  sounded 
for  him  on  the  other  side."  No  monarch  on  his 
throne  is  so  to  be  envied  as  he  who  now  wears  that 
celestial  crown. 

Can  anything  new  be  said  about  Charles  H. 
Spurgeon?  Perhaps  not,  and  yet  I  should  be 
guilty  of  injustice  to  myself  and  to  my  readers  if 
I  failed  to  pay  my  love  tribute  to  the  most  ex- 
traordinary preacher  of  the  pure  Gospel  to  all 
Christendom  whom  England  produced  in  the  last 
century. 

I  heard  him  when  he  was  a  youth  of  twenty-two 
years,  in  his  Park  Street  Chapel;  I  heard  him 
several  times  when  he  was  at  the  zenith  of  his  vigor ; 
I  spent  many  a  happy  hour  with  him  in  his  charm- 
ing home.  On  my  last  visit  there  I  had  a  "good 
cry"  when  I  saw  his  empty  chair  in  its  old  place  in 
the  study.  I  did  not  form  any  personal  acquaint- 
ance with  him  until  the  summer  of  1872,  and  it 
soon  ripened  into  a  most  warm  and  cordial  friend- 
ship. On  each  of  my  visits  to  London  since  that 
time  I  have  enjoyed  an  afternoon  with  him  at  his 
home.  His  first  residence  was  Helensburg  House 
in  Nightingale  Road,  Clapham,  a  Southwest  District 
of  London.  That  beautiful  home  was  his  only 


i&a       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

luxury ;  but  he  spent  none  of  his  ample  income  on 
any  sort  of  social  enjoyment,  and  what  did  not  go 
for  household  expenses  went  for  the  support  of  his 
many  religious  enterprises.  On  my  first  visit  to  him 
he  greeted  me  in  his  free  and  easy,  open-handed 
way.  I  noticed  that  he  was  growing  stouter  than 
ever.  "In  me,"  he  jocularly  said,  "that  is  in  my 
flesh,  dwelleth  no  good  thing."  We  spent  a  joyous 
hour  in  his  well  filled  library ;  he  showed  me  fifteen 
stately  volumes  of  his  printed  sermons  which  have 
since  been  more  than  doubled,  besides  several  of  his 
works  translated  into  French,  German,  Swedish, 
Dutch  and  other  languages.  The  most  interesting 
object  in  the  library  was  a  small  file  of  his  sermon 
notes,  each  one  on  a  half  sheet  of  note  paper,  or  on 
the  back  of  an  ordinary  letter  envelope.  When  I 
asked  him  if  he  "wrote  his  sermons  out,"  his  answer 
was :  "I  would  rather  be  hung."  His  usual  method 
was  to  select  the  text  of  his  Sunday  morning 
sermon  on  Saturday  about  six  or  seven  o'clock,  and 
spend  half  an  hour  in  arranging  a  skeleton  and  put 
it  on  paper;  he  left  all  the  phraseology  until  he 
reached  the  pulpit.  During  Sunday  afternoon  he 
repeated  the  same  process  in  preparing  his  evening 
discourse.  "If  I  had  a  month  assigned  me  for  pre- 
paring a  sermon,"  said  he  to  me,  "I  would  spend 
thirty  days  and  twenty-three  hours  on  something 
else  and  in  the  last  hour  I  would  make  the  sermon, 


SOME  FAMOUS  PREACHERS  IN  BRITAIN.  183 

and  if  I  could  not  do  it  then  I  could  not  do  it  in  a 
month. 

This  sounds  like  a  risky  process,  but  it  must  be 
remembered  that  if  Spurgeon  occupied  but  a  few 
minutes  in  arranging  a  discourse  he  spent  five  days 
of  every  week  in  thoroughly  studying  God's  Word — 
in  thorough  thinking — and  in  the  perusal  of  the 
richest  old  writers  on  theology  and  experimental 
religion. 

He  was  all  the  time,  and  everywhere  filling  up 
his  cask,  so  that  he  had  only  to  turn  the  spigot  and 
out  flowed  the  pure  Gospel  in  the  most  transparent 
language.  A  stenographer  took  down  the  sermon, 
and  it  was  revised  by  Mr.  Spurgeon  on  Monday 
morning.  He  told  me  that  for  many  years  he  went 
to  his  pulpit  under  such  nervous  agitation  that  it 
often  brought  on  violent  attacks  of  vomiting  and 
produced  outbreaks  of  perspiration,  and  he  slowly 
outgrew  that  remarkable  sort  of  physical  suffering. 

Twenty  years  ago  Mr.  Spurgeon  exchanged 
Helensburgh  House  for  the  still  more  elegant  man- 
sion called  "Westwood"  on  Beulah  Hill,  near 
Crystal  Palace,  Sydenham.  It  is  a  rural  paradise. 
At  each  of  the  visits  I  paid  him  there,  he  used  to 
come  out  with  his  banged-up  soft  hat,  which  he 
wore  indoors  half  of  the  time,  and  with  a  merry  jest 
on  his  lips.  On  my  last  visit,  accompanied  by  my 
brother  Hall,  I  found  him  suffering  severely  from 


184      RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

his  neuralgic  malady,  but  it  did  not  affect  his  buoy- 
ant humor.  When  I  told  him  that  my  catarrhal 
deafness  was  worse  than  ever,  he  replied:  "Well, 
brother,  console  yourself  with  the  thought  that  in 
these  days  there  is  very  little  worth  hearing."  He 
took  my  brother  Hall,  and  myself  out  into  his 
garden  and  conservatory  and  down  to  a  rustic  arbor, 
where  we  sat  down  and  told  stories.  There  were 
twelve  acres  of  land  attached  to  "Westwood,"and  he 
had  us  into  the  meadow,  where  we  lay  down  in  the 
freshly  mowed  hay  and  inhaled  its  fragrance.  Mrs. 
Spurgeon,  a  most  gifted  and  charming  lady,  had  a 
dozen  cows  and  the  profits  of  her  dairy  then  sup- 
ported a  missionary  in  London;  and  the  milk  was 
sent  around  the  neighborhood  in  a  wagon  labeled, 
"Charles  H.  Spurgeon,  Milk  Dealer."  After  our 
return,  the  great  preacher  showed  us  a  portfolio  of 
caricatures  of  himself  from  Punch  and  other  pub- 
lications. At  six  o'clock  we  took  supper  and  then 
came  family  worship — all  the  servants  being 
present.  Mr.  Spurgeon  followed  my  prayer  with 
the  most  wonderful  prayer  that  perhaps  I  have  ever 
heard  from  human  lips,  and  I  said  afterwards  to  my 
friend  Hall,  "To-night  we  got  into  'the  hidings  of 
his  power/  for  a  man  who  can  pray  like  that  can 
outpreach  the  world."  In  the  soft  hour  of  the 
gloaming  we  took  our  leave,  and  he  went  off  to  pre- 
pare his  sermon  for  the  morrow. 


SOME  FAMOUS  PREACHERS  IN  BRITAIN.   ^85 

Spurgeon's  power  lay  in  a  combination  of  half  a 
dozen  great  qualities.  He  was  the  master  of  a 
vigorous  Saxon  English  style,  the  style  of  Cobbett 
and  Bunyan  and  the  old  English  Bible.  He  pos- 
sessed a  most  marvelous  memory — it  held  the  whole 
Bible  in  solution;  it  retained  all  the  valuable  truth 
he  had  acquired  during  his  immensely  wide  read- 
ings and  it  enabled  him  to  recognize  any  person 
whom  he  ever  met  before.  Once,  however,  he  met 
for  the  second  time  a  Mr.  Patridge  and  called  him 
"Partridge."  Quick  as  a  flash  he  said:  "Pardon 
me,  sir,  I  did  not  intend  to  make  game  of  you." 
He  was  a  man  of  one  Book,  and  had  the  most  im- 
plicit faith  in  every  jot  .and  tittle  of  God's  Word. 
He  preached  it  without  defalcation  or  discount,  and 
this  prodigious  faith  made  his  preaching  immensely 
tonic.  His  sympathies  with  all  mankind  were  un- 
bounded, and  the  juices  of  his  nature  were  enough 
to  float  an  ark  full  of  living  creatures.  Joined  to 
these  gifts  was  a  marvelous  voice  of  great  sweet- 
ness, and  a  homely  mother-wit  that  bubbled  out  in 
all  his  talk  and  often  in  his  sermons.  Mightiest  of 
all  was  his  power  of  prayer,  and  his  inner  life  was 
hid  with  Christ  in  God.  As  an  organizer  he  had 
great  executive  abilities.  His  Orphanage,  dozen 
missionary  schools  and  theological  training  school 
will  be  among  his  enduring  monuments.  The  last 
sermon  I  ever  heard  him  deliver  was  in  Dr.  New- 


186       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

man  Hall's  church  on  a  week  evening.  He  came 
hobbling  into  the  study,  his  face  the  picture  of 
suffering.  He  said  to  me,  "Brother  Cuyler,  if  I 
break  down,  won't  you  take  up  the  service  and  go 
on  with  it?"  I  told  him  that  he  would  forget  his 
pains  the  moment  he  got  under  way,  and  so  it  was, 
for  he  delivered  a  most  nutritious  discourse  to  us. 
When  the  service  was  over,  he  limped  off  to  his 
carriage,  wrapped  himself  in  the  huge  cushions,  and 
drove  away  seven  miles  to  his  home  at  Upper  Nor- 
wood. That  was  the  last  time  I  ever  saw  my  be- 
loved friend. 

It  seems  strange  that  I  shall  never  behold  that 
homely,  honest  countenance  again;  and  since  that 
time,  London  has  hardly  seemed  to  be  London  with- 
out him.  It  is  a  cause  for  congratulation  that  his 
son,  the  Reverend  Thomas  Spurgeon,  is  so  success- 
fully carrying  forward  the  great  work  of  his  sainted 
father.  If  my  readers  would  like  a  sample  taste  of 
the  pure  Spurgeonic  it  is  to  be  found  in  this  passage 
which  he  delivered  to  his  theological  students: 
"Some  modern  divines  whittle  away  the  Gospel  to 
the  small  end  of  nothing;  they  make  our  Divine 
Lord  to  be  a  sort  of  blessed  nobody ;  they  bring  down 
salvation  to  mere  possibility;  they  make  certainties 
into  probabilities  and  treat  verities  as  mere  opinions. 
When  you  see  a  preacher  making  the  Gospel  smaller 
by  degrees,  and  miserably  less,  till  there  is  not 


SOME  FAMOUS  PREACHERS  IN  BRITAIN.  187 

enough  of  it  left  to  make  soup  for  a  sick  grasshopper, 
get  you  gone  with  him!  As  for  me,  I  believe  in  an 
infinite  God,  an  infinite  atonement,  infinite  love  and 
mercy,  an  everlasting  covenant,  ordered  in  all 
things,  and  sure,  and  of  which  the  substance  and 
reality  is  an  Infinite  Christ." 

I  once  asked  Dr.  James  McCosh,  who  was  the 
greatest  preacher  he  ever  heard.  He  replied,  "Of 
course,  it  was  my  Edinboro  Professor,  Dr.  Chal- 
mers, but  the  grandest  display  of  eloquence  I  ever 
listened  to  was  Dr.  Alexander  Duff's  famous  Plea 
for  Foreign  Missions,  delivered  before  the  Scottish 
General  Assembly  at  a  date  previous  to  the  disrup- 
tion." I  can  say  Amen!  to  Dr.  McCosh,  for  the 
most  overpowering  oratory  that  I  ever  heard  was 
Duff's  great  missionary  speech  in  the  Broadway 
Tabernacle  during  his  visit  to  America.  In  the 
immense  crowd  were  two  hundred  ministers  and  the 
foremost  laymen  of  the  city.  When  the  great  mis- 
sionary arose  (he  was  then  in  the  prime  of  his 
power),  his  first  appearance  was  not  impressive,  for 
his  countenance  had  no  beauty  and  his  gestures  were 
grotesquely  awkward.  With  one  arm  he  huddled 
his  coat  up  to  his  shoulder,  with  the  other  he  sawed 
the  air  incontinently,  and  when  intensely  excited,  he 
leapt  several  inches  from  the  floor  as  if  about 
to  precipitate  himself  over  the  desk.  All  these 
eccentricities  were  forgotten  when  once  the  great 


:88       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

heart  began  to  open  its  treasures  to  us,  and  the 
subject  of  his  resistless  oratory  began  to  enchain  our 
souls.  In  his  vivid  description  of  "Magnificent 
India"  its  dusky  crowds  and  its  ancient  temples, 
with  its  northern  mountains  towering  to  the  skies; 
its  dreary  jungles  haunted  by  the  tiger;  its  crystal- 
line salt  fields  flashing  in  the  sun ;  and  its  Malabar 
hills  redolent  with  the  richest  spices,  were  all  spread 
out  before  us  like  a  panorama. 

When  the  Doctor  had  completed  the  survey  of 
India,  he  opened  his  batteries  on  the  sloth  and  sel- 
fishness of  too  many  of  Christ's  professed  followers  -, 
he  poured  contempt  upon  the  men  who  said :  "They 
are  not  so  green  as  to  waste  their  money  on  the 
farce  of  Foreign  Missions."  "No,  no,  indeed,"  he 
continued,  "they  are  not  green,  for  greenness  im- 
plies verdure,  and  beauty,  and  there  is  not  a  single 
atom  of  verdure  in  their  parched  and  withered  up 
souls."  Under  the  burning  satire  and  mellowing 
pathos  of  his  tremendous  appeal  for  heathendom, 
tears  welled  out  from  every  eye  in  the  house.  I 
leaned  over  toward  the  reporter's  table ;  many  of  the 
reporters  had  flung  down  their  pens — they  might  as 
well  have  attempted  to  report  a  thunder  storm.  As 
the  orator  drew  near  his  close,  he  seemed  like  one 
inspired ;  his  face  shone  as  if  it  were,  the  face  of  an 
angel.  Never  before  did  I  so  fully  realize  the  over- 
whelming power  of  a  man  who  has  become  the  em- 


SOME  FAMOUS  PREACHERS  IN  BRITAIN   189 

bodiment  of  one  great  idea — who  makes  his  lips  the 
mere  outlet  for  the  mighty  truth  bursting  from  his 
heart.  After  nearly  two  hours  of  this  inundation  of 
eloquence,  he  concluded  with  the  quotation  of 
Cowper's  magnificent  verse, 

"One  song  employs  all  nations,"  etc. 

With  the  utmost  vehemence  he  rung  out  the  last 
line: 

"Earth  rolls  the  rapturous  Hosanna  round." 
He  could  not  check  his  headway,  and  repeated  the 
line  a  second  time,  louder  than  before,  and  then 
with  a  tremendous  voice  that  made  the  walls  rever- 
berate, he  shouted  once  more : 

"Earth  rolls  the  rapturous  Hosanna  round!" 
and  sunk  back  breathless  and  exhausted  into  his 
chair.     "Shut  up  now  this  Tabernacle,"  exclaimed 
Dr.  James  W.  Alexander.    "Let  no  man  dare  speak 
here  after  that." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

SOME  FAMOUS  AMERICAN  PREACHERS. 

The  Alexanders. — Dr.  Tyng. — Dr.  Cox. — Dr. 

Adams. — Dr.  Storrs. — Mr.  Beecher. — Mr. 
Finney  and  Dr.  B.  M.  Palmer. 

THE  necessary  limitations  of  this  chapter  forbid 
any  reference  to  many  distinguished  American 
preachers  whom  I  have  seen  or  heard,  but  with 
whom  I  had  not  sufficient  personal  acquaintance  to 
furnish  any  material  for  personal  reminiscences.  In 
common  with  multitudes  of  others  on  both  sides 
of  the  ocean,  I  had  a  hearty  admiration  for  the  bril- 
liant genius  and  masterful  sermons  of  Phillips 
Brooks,  but  I  only  heard  two  of  his  rapid  and  reso- 
nant addresses  on  anniversary  occasions,  and  my 
acquaintance  with  him  was  very  slight.  I  heard 
only  one  discourse  by  that  remarkable  combination 
of  preacher,  poet,  patriot  and  philosopher,  Dr. 
Horace  Bushnell,  of  Hartford, — his  discourse  on 

"Barbarism  the   Chief  Danger,"   delivered  before 

190 


SOME  FAMOUS  AMERICAN  PREACHERS.    191 

the  "Home  Missionary  Society."  His  sermon  on 
"Unconscious  Influence,"  was  enough  to  confer 
immortality  on  any  minister  of  Jesus  Christ.  I 
never  was  acquainted  with  him,  but  after  his  death, 
I  suggested  to  the  residents  of  New  Preston,  that 
they  should  name  the  mountain  that  rises  immedi- 
ately behind  the  home  of  his  childhood  and  youth, 
Mount  Bushnell.  The  villagers  assented  to  my  pro- 
posal, and  the  State  Legislature  ratified  their  act  by 
ordering  that  name  to  be  placed  on  the  maps  of 
Connecticut.  In  this  chapter,  as  in  the  previous  one, 
I  shall  give  my  recollections  only  of  those  who  have 
ended  their  career  of  service,  and  entered  into  their 
reward. 

During  the  six  years  that  I  spent  in  Princeton 
College  and  in  the  Seminary  (between  1838  and 
1846)  I  came  into  close  acquaintance  with,  and  I 
heard  very  often,  the  two  great  orators  of  the  Alex- 
ander family.  Dr.  Archibald  Alexander,  the  father 
of  a  famous  group  of  sons,  was  a  native  of  Virginia 
— had  listened  to  Patrick  Henry  in  his  youth ;  had 
married  the  daughter  of  the  eloquent  "Blind 
Preacher,"  Rev.  James  Waddell,  and  even  when 
as  a  young  minister  he  had  preached  in  Hanover, 
New  Hampshire.  Daniel  Webster,  then  a  student 
in  Dartmouth  College,  predicted  his  future  emin- 
ence. The  students  in  the  Seminary  were  wont  to 
call  him  playfully,  "The  Pope,"  for  we  had  un- 


192       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

bounded  confidence  in  his  sanctified  common-sense. 
I  always  went  to  him  for  counsel.  His  insight  into 
the  human  heart  was  marvelous ;  and  in  the  line  of 
close  experimental  preaching,  he  has  not  had  his 
equal  since  the  days  of  President  Edwards.  He 
put  the  impress  of  his  powerful  personality  on  a 
thousand  ministers  who  graduated  from  Princeton 
Seminary. 

In  his  lecture-desk  and  in  the  pulpit  he  was  sim- 
plicity itself.  His  sermons  were  like  the  waters  of 
Lak^  George,  so  pellucid  that  you  could  see  every 
bright  pebble  far  down  in  the  depths ;  a  child  could 
comprehend  him,  yet  a  sage  be  instructed  by  him. 
His  best  discourses  were  extemporaneous,  and  he 
had  very  little  gesture,  except  with  his  forefinger, 
which  he  used  to  place  under  his  chin,  and  some- 
times against  his  nose  in  a  very  peculiar  manner. 
With  a  clear  piping  voice  and  colloquial  style  he 
held  his  audience  in  rapt  attention,  disdaining  all 
the  tricks  of  sensational  oratory.  Twice  I  heard 
him  deliver  his  somewhat  celebrated  discourse  on 
"The  Day  of  Judgment;"  it  was  a  masterpiece  of 
solemn  eloquence,  in  which  sublimity  and  simplicity 
were  combined  in  a  way  that  I  have  never  seen 
equaled.  He  used  to  say  that  the  right  course  for 
an  old  man  to  keep  his  mind  from  senility  was  to 
produce  some  piece  of  composition  every  day;  and 
he  continued  to  write  his  practical  articles  for  the 


SOME  FAMOUS  AMERICAN  PREACHERS.    193 

religious  press  until  he  was  almost  four-score. 
What  an  impressive  funeral  was  his  on  that  bright 
October  afternoon,  in  1851,  when  two  hundred 
ministers  gathered  in  that  Westminster  Abbey  of 
Presbyterianism,  the  Princeton  Cemetery!  His 
ashes  slumber  beside  those  of  Witherspoon,  Davies, 
Hodge,  McCosh  and  Jonathan  Edwards. 

Among  the  six  sons  who  stood  that  day  beside 
that  grave,  the  most  brilliant  by  far  was  the  third 
son,  Joseph  Addison  Alexander.  Dr.  Charles 
Hodge  said  of  him :  "Taking  him  all  in  all,  he  was 
the  most  gifted  man  with  whom  I  have  ever  been 
personally  acquainted."  In  childhood,  such  was 
his  precocity  that  he  knew  the  Hebrew  alphabet  at 
six  years  of  age  (I  am  afraid  that  some  ministers 
do  not  know  it  at  sixty)  ;  and  he  could  read  Latin 
fluently  when  he  was  only  eight !  Of  his  wonderful 
feats  of  memory  I  could  give  many  illustrations ; 
one  was  that  on  the  day  that  I  was  matriculated  in 
the  Seminary  with  fifty  other  students,  Professor 
Alexander  went  over  to  Dr.  Hodge's  study,  and 
repeated  to  him  every  one  of  our  names !  When 
using  manuscript  in  the  pulpit,  he  frequently  turned 
the  leaves  backward  instead  of  forward,  for  he 
knew  all  the  sermon  by  heart !  His  commentaries — 
quite  too  few — remain  as  monuments  of  his  pro- 
found scholarship,  and  some  of  his  articles  in  the 
Princeton  Review  sparkled  with  the  keenest  wit. 


194       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

Oh,  how  his  grandest  sermons  linger  still  in  my 
memory  after  three-score  years — like  the  far-off  mu- 
sic of  an  Alpine  horn  floating  from  the  mountain 
tops !  His  physique  was  remarkable ;  he  had  the  rud- 
dy cheeks  of  a  boy,  and  his  square  intellectual  head 
we  students  used  to  say  "looked  like  Napoleon's." 
His  voice  was  peculiarly  melodious,  especially  in 
the  pathetic  passages ;  his  imagination  was  vivid  in 
fine  imagery,  and  he  had  an  unique  habit  of  ending 
a  long  sentence  in  the  words  of  his  text,  which 
chained  the  text  fast  to  our  memories.  The  an- 
nouncement of  his  name  always  crowded  the  church 
in  Princeton,  and  he  was  flooded  with  invitations 
to  preach  in  the  most  prominent  churches  of  New 
York,  Philadelphia,  and  other  cities.  One  of  his 
most  powerful  and  popular  sermons  was  on  the 
text,  "Remember  Lot's  Wife;"  and  he  received  so 
many  requests  to  repeat  that  sermon  that  he  said  to 
his  brother  James  in  a  wearied  tone,  "I  am  afraid 
that  woman  will  be  the  death  of  me." 

There  may  still  be  old  Philadelphians  who  can  re- 
call the  magnificent  series  of  discourses  which  Pro- 
fessor Alexander  delivered  during  the  winter  of 
1847  m  the  pulpit  of  Dr.  Henry  A.  Boardman,  while 
Dr.  Boardman  was  in  Europe.  The  church  was 
packed  every  Sabbath  evening,  clear  to  the  outer 
door,  and  many  were  unable  to  find  room  even  in 
the  aisles.  Dr.  Alexander  was  then  in  his  splendid 


SOME  FAMOUS  AMERICAN  PREACHERS.    195 

prime.  His  musical  voice  often  swelled  into  a  vol- 
ume that  rolled  out  through  the  doorway  and 
reached  the  passerby  on  the  sidewalk !  During  that 
winter  he  pronounced  all  his  most  famous  sermons 
— on  "The  Faithful  Saying,"  on  "The  City  with 
Foundations,"  on  "Awake,  Thou  that  Sleepest!"  and 
on  "The  Broken  and  Contrite  Heart."  It  was  after 
hearing  this  latter  most  original  and  pathetic  dis- 
course that  an  eminent  man  exclaimed,  "No  such 
preaching  as  that  has  been  heard  in  this  land  since 
the  days  of  Dr.  John  M.  Mason."  I  enjoy  the  peru- 
sal of  the  rich,  unique,  and  spiritual  sermons  of  my 
beloved  professor  and  friend ;  but  no  one  who  reads 
them  can  realize  what  it  was  to  listen  to  Joseph  Ad- 
dison  Alexander  in  his  highest  and  holiest  inspira- 
tions. 

Was  Albert  Barnes  a  great  preacher  ?  Yes ;  if  it  is 
a  great  thing  for  a  man  to  hold  a  large  audience  of 
thoughtful  and  intelligent  people  in  solemn  attention 
while  he  proclaims  to  them  the  weightiest  and  vital- 
est  of  truths — then  was  Mr.  Barnes  a  great  am- 
bassador of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  He  combined 
modesty  and  majesty  to  a  remarkable  degree.  He 
had  a  commanding  figure,  keen  eye,  handsome  fea- 
tures, and  a  cleai  distinct  voice;  but  so  diffident 
was  he  that  he  seldom  looked  about  over  his  con- 
gregation and  rarely  made  a  single  gesture.  His 
simple  rule  of  homiletics  was,  have  something  to 


ig6       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

say,  and  then  say  it.  He  stood  up  in  his  pulpit  and 
delivered  his  calm,  clear,  strong,  spiritual  utterances 
with  scarcely  a  trace  of  emotion,  and  the  hushed  as- 
sembly listened  as  if  they  were  listening  to  one  of 
the  oracles  of  God.  His  best  sermons  were  like  a 
great  red  anthracite  coal  bed;  with  no  flash,  but 
kindled  through  and  through  with  the  fire  of  the 
Holy  Spirit.  Bashful,  too,  as  he  was,  he  denounced 
popular  sins  with  an  intrepidity  displayed  by  but  few 
ministers  in  our  land.  In  the  temperance  reform  he 
was  an  early  pioneer.  For  Albert  Barnes  I  felt  an 
intense  personal  attachment;  he  was  my  ideal  of  a 
fearless,  godly-minded  herald  of  evangelical  truth; 
and  he  had  begun  his  public  ministry  in  Morris- 
town,  N.  J.,  the  home  of  my  maternal  ancestry,  and 
in  the  church  in  which  my  beloved  mother  had  made 
her  confession  of  faith.  When  our  Lafayette  Ave- 
nue Church  was  dedicated — just  forty  years  ago — 
I  urged  him  to  deliver  the  discourse;  but  he  hesi- 
tated to  preach  extemporaneously,  and  his  sight 
was  so  impaired  that  he  could  not  use  a  manuscript. 
At  the  age  of  seventy-two  he  was  suddenly  and 
sweetly  translated  to  heaven.  Over  the  whole  Eng- 
lish-speaking world  his  name  was  familiar  as  a  plain 
teacher  of  God's  Word  in  very  spiritual  commen- 
taries. 

A  half  century  ago  Dr.  William  B.  Sprague,  of 
Albany,  was  in  the    front    rank    of    Presbyterian 


SOME  FAMOUS  AMERICAN  PREACHERS.     197 

preachers.  His  fine  presence,  his  richly  melodious 
voice,  his  graceful  style  and  fresh,  practical  evan- 
gelical thought  made  him  so  popular  that  he  was  in 
demand  everywhere  for  special  occasions  and  ser- 
vices. He  was  a  marvel  of  industry.  While  prepar- 
ing his  voluminous  "Annals  of  the  American  Pul- 
pit," and  conducting  an  enormous  correspondence, 
he  never  omitted  the  preparation  of  new  sermons  for 
his  own  flock.  With  that  flock  he  lived  and  labored 
for  forty  years,  and  when  he  resigned  his  charge 
(in  1869)  ne  told  me  that  when  removing  from  Al- 
bany, he  buried  his  face  and  streaming  eyes  with  his 
hands,  for  he  could  not  endure  the  farewell  look 
at  the  city  of  his  love.  When  I  first  heard  him  in 
my  student  days  I  thought  him  an  almost  faultless 
pulpit  orator,  and  when  he  and  the  young  and  ar- 
dent Edward  N.  Kirk  stood  side  by  side  in  Albany, 
no  town  in  the  land  contained  two  nobler  specimens 
of  the  earnest,  persuasive  and  eloquent  Presbyterian 
preachers. 

When  I  came  to  New  York  as  pastor  of  the  Mar- 
ket Street  Church,  in  1853,  the  most  conspicuous 
minister  in  the  city  was  the  rector  of  St.  George's 
Episcopal  Church  on  Stuyvesant  Square.  Every 
Sabbath  the  superb  and  spacious  edifice  was 
thronged.  It  was  quite  "the  thing"  for  strangers 
who  came  to  New  York  to  go  and  hear  Dr.  Tyng. 
Even  on  Sunday  afternoons  the  house  was  filled; 


198       RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

for  at  that  service  he  preached  what  he  called  "ser- 
mons to  the  children" — but  they  were  not  only 
sprightly,  simple  and  vivacious  enough  to  attract 
the  young,  they  also  contained  an  abundance  of 
strong  meat  for  persons  of  older  growth.  He  was 
an  enthusiast  in  Sunday  school  work — had  2,500 
scholars  in  his  mission  schools,  and  possessed  an 
unsurpassed  power  in  nailing  the  ears  of  the  young 
to  his  pulpit. 

Dr.  Tyng  was  the  acknowledged  leader  of  the 
"Low  Church"  wing  of  Episcopacy  in  this  country, 
both  during  his  ministry  in  the  Epiphany  at  Phil- 
adelphia, and  in  St.  George's  at  New  York.  He 
edited  their  weekly  paper,  and  cbampioned  their 
cause  on  all  occasions.  He  was  their  candidate  for 
the  office  of  Bishop  of  Pennsylvania  in  1845,  and 
the  contest  was  protracted  through  a  long  series 
of  ballotings.  It  was  urged,  and  not  without  some 
reason,  that  his  impetuous  temper  and  strong  parti- 
sanship might  make  him  a  rather  domineering  over- 
seer of  the  diocese.  He  possessed  an  indomitable 
will  and  pushed  his  way  through  life  with  the  irre- 
sistible rush  of  a  Cunarder  under  a  full  head  of 
steam.  His  temper  was  naturally  very  violent.  One 
Sabbath  evening  he  was  addressing  my  Sunday 
school  in  Market  Street,  and  describing  the  various 
kinds  of  human  nature  by  resemblances  to  various 
animals,  the  lion,  the  fox,  the  sloth,  etc. :  "Children," 


SOME  FAMOUS  AMERICAN  PREACHERS.    199 

he  exclaimed,  "do  you  want  to  know  what  I  am? 
I  am  by  nature  a  royal  Bengal  tiger,  and  if  it  had 
not  been  for  the  grace  of  God  to  tame  me,  I  fear 
that  nobody  could  ever  have  lived  with  me."  There 
was  about  as  much  truth  as  there  was  wit  in  the 
comparison.  His  congregation  in  St.  George's 
knew  his  irrepressible  temperament  so  well  that  they 
generally  let  him  have  his  own  way.  If  he  wanted 
money  for  a  church  object  or  a  cause  of  charity, 
he  did  not  beg  for  it;  he  demanded  it  in  the 
name  of  the  Lord.  "When  I  see  Dr.  Tyng  coming 
up  the  steps  of  my  bank,"  said  a  rich  bank  president 
to  me,  "I  always  begin  to  draw  my  cheque ;  I  know 
he  will  get  it,  and  it  saves  my  time." 

His  leading  position  among  Low  Churchmen  was 
won  not  only  by  his  intellectual  force  and  moral 
courage,  but  by  his  uncompromising  devotion  to 
evangelical  doctrine.  He  belonged  to  the  same 
school  with  Baxter,  John  Newton,  Bickersteth,  Sim- 
eon and  Bedell.  In  England  his  intimate  friends 
were  the  Earl  of  Shaftesbury,  Dr.  McNeill  and 
others  of  the  most  pronounced  evangelical  type. 
The  good  old  doctrines  of  redemption  by  the  blood 
of  Christ,  and  of  regeneration  by  the  Holy  Spirit 
were  his  constant  theme,  and  on  these  and  kindred 
topics  he  was  a  delightful  preacher. 

Strong  as  he  was  in  the  pulpit,  Dr.  Tyng  was  the 
prince  of  platform  orators.  He  had  every  quality 


200      RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

necessary  for  the  sway  of  a  popular  audience — fine 
elocution,  marvelous  fluency,  piquancy,  the  courage 
of  his  convictions  and  a  magnetism  that  swept  all 
before  him.  His  voice  was  very  clear  and  penetrat- 
ing, and  he  hurled  forth  his  clean-cut  sentences  like 
javelins.  A  more  fluent  speaker  I  never  heard ;  not 
Spurgeon  or  Henry  Ward  Beecher  could  surpass 
him  in  readiness  of  utterance.  On  one  occasion  the 
Broadway  Tabernacle  was  crowded  with  a  great  au- 
dience that  gathered  to  hear  some  celebrity;  and 
the  expected  hero  did  not  arrive.  The  impatient 
crowd  called  for  "Tyng,  Tyng;"  and  the  rector  of 
St.  George's  came  forward,  and  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment  delivered  such  a  charming  speech  that  the 
audience  would  not  let  him  stop.  For  many  years 
I  spoke  with  him  at  meetings  for  city  missions,  total 
abstinence,  Sunday  schools  and  other  benevolent 
enterprises.  He  used  playfully  to  call  me  "one  of 
his  boys."  At  a  complimentary  reception  given  to 
J.  B.  Gough  in  Niblo's  Hall,  Mr.  Beecher  and  my- 
self delivered  our  talks,  and  then  retired  to  the  op- 
posite end  of  the  hall.  Dr.  Tyng  took  the  rostrum 
with  one  of  his  swift  magnetic  .speeches.  I  leaned 
over  to  Beecher  and  whispered,  "That  is  splendid 
platf orming,  isn't  it  ?"  Beecher  replied :  "Yes,  indeed 
it  is.  He  is  the  one  man  that  I  am  afraid  of. 
When  he  speaks  first  I  do  not  care  to  follow 
him,  and  if  I  speak  first,  then  when  he  gets  up  I 


SOME  FAMOUS  AMERICAN  PREACHERS.   201 

wish  I  had  not  spoken  at  all."  Some  of  Dr.  Tyng's 
most  powerful  addresses  were  in  behalf  of  the  tem- 
perance reform;  he  was  a  most  uncompromising 
foe  of  both  of  the  dram  shop  and  of  the  drinking 
usages  in  polite  society.  He  also  denounced  the 
theatre  and  the  ball-room  with  the  most  Puritanic 
vehemence. 

Dr.  Stephen  H.  Tyng's  chief  power,  like  many 
other  great  preachers,  was  when  he  was  on  his  feet. 
He  should  be  heard  and  not  read.  Some  of  the  dis- 
courses and  addresses  which  enchained  and  thrilled 
his  auditors  seemed  tame  enough  when  reported  for 
the  press.  In  that  respect  he  resembled  Whitfield 
and  Gough  and  many  of  our  most  effective  stump 
speakers.  The  result  was  that  Dr.  Tyng's  fame,  to  a 
great  degree,  perished  with  him.  He  published 
several  books,  of  a  most  excellent  and  evangelical 
character,  but  they  lacked  the  thunder  and  the 
lightning  which  make  his  uttered  words  so  power- 
ful, and  probably  none  of  his  many  books  are  much 
read  to-day.  The  influence  of  his  splendid  and 
heroic  personality  was  very  great  during  a  min- 
istry of  over  fifty  years,  and  the  glorious  work 
which  he  wrought  for  his  Master  will  endure  to 
all  eternity. 

To  have  heard  Dr.  William  Adams  of  New  York 
at  his  best  was  better  than  any  lecture  on  "Homi- 
letics" ;  to  have  met  him  at  the  fireside  or  in  the  sick 


202        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

room  of  one  of  his  parishioners  was  a  prelection  in 
pastoral  theology. 

The  first  time  that  I  ever  saw  him  was  fully  fifty 
years  ago ;  he  was  standing  in  the  gallery  of  the  old 
Broadway  Tabernacle  at  an  anniversary  of  the 
American  Bible  Society,  and  Dr.  James  W.  Alex- 
ander pointed  him  out  to  me  saying — "Yonder 
stands  Dr.  William  Adams;  he  is  the  hardest  stu- 
dent of  us  all."  It  was  this  honest  incessant  brain 
work  that  enabled  him  to  sustain  himself  for  forty 
years  in  one  of  the  conspicuous  pulpits  of  the  largest 
city  in  the  land.  He  always  drew  out  of  a  full  cask. 
Let  young  ministers  lay  this  fact  to  heart.  It  was 
not  by  trick  or  happy  luck,  or  by  pyrotechnics  of 
rhetoric  that  Dr.  Adams  won  and  kept  his  position 
in  the  forefront  of  metropolitan  preachers.  The 
"dead  line  of  fifty"  was  not  to  be  found  on  his  in- 
tellectual atlas.  One  of  the  last  talks  with  him  that 
I  now  recall  was  on  an  early  morning  in  Congress 
Park,  Saratoga.  He  had  a  pocket  Testament  in  his 
hand,  and  he  said  to  me,  "I  find  myself  reading  more 
and  more  the  old  books  of  my  youth ;  I  am  enjoying 
just  now  Virgil's  Eclogues,  but  nothing  is  so  dear  to 
me  as  my  Greek  Testament." 
;  All  of  Dr.  Adams'  finest  efforts  were  thoroughly 
prepared  and  committed  to  memory.  He  never 
risked  a  failure  by  attempting  to  shake  a  sermon  or 
a  speech  "out  of  his  sleeve."  His  memory  was  one 


SOME  FAMOUS  AMERICAN  PREACHERS.    203 

of  his  greatest  gifts.  Sometimes  when  his  soul  was 
on  fire,  and  his  voice  trembled  with  emotion,  he  rose 
into  the  region  of  lofty  impassioned  eloquence.  His 
master  effort  on  the  platform  was  his  address  of 
welcome  to  the  members  of  the  "Evangelical  Alli- 
ance" in  1873.  How  the  foreign  delegates — Doctors 
Stoughton,  Christlieb,  Dorner  and  the  rest  of  them 
— did  open  their  eyes  that  evening  to  the  fact  that  a 
Yankee-born  parson  was,  in  elegant  culture  and  pol- 
ished oratory,  a  match  for  them  all.  Dr.  Adams' 
speech  "struck  twelve"  for  the  Alliance  at  the  start ; 
nothing  during  the  whole  subsequent  sessions  sur- 
passed that  opening  address,  although  Beecher  and 
Dr.  Joseph  Parker  were  both  among  the  speakers. 
He  closed  the  meeting  of  the  Alliance  in  the  Acad- 
emy of  Music  with  a  prayer  of  wonderful  fervor, 
pathos  and  beauty. 

One  of  his  grandest  speeches  was  delivered  before 
the  Free  Church  General  Assembly  in  Edinburgh — 
in  May,  1871.  Dr.  Guthrie  told  me  that  he  swept 
the  assembly  away  by  his  stately  bearing,  sonorous 
voice  and  classic  oratory.  The  men  whom  he  moved 
so  mightily  were  such  men  as  Arnot  and  Guthrie 
and  Rainy  and  Bonar, — the  men  who  had  listened 
to  the  grandest  efforts  of  Duff  and  of  Chalmers.  I 
well  remember  that  when  I  had  to  address  the  same 
assembly  (as  the  American  delegate)  the  next 
year  I  was  more  disturbed  by  the  apparition  of  my 


204         RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

predecessor,  Dr.  Adams,  than  by  all  the  brilliant 
audience  before  me. 

Dr.  Adams  was  gifted  with  what  is  of  more  prac- 
tical value  than  genius,  and  that  was  marvelous 
tact.  That  was  with  him  an  instinct  and  an  inspi- 
ration. It  led  him  to  always  speak  the  right  word, 
and  do  the  right  thing  at  the  right  time.  Personal 
politeness  helped  him  also;  for  he  was  one  of  the 
most  perfect  gentlemen  in  America.  That  practical 
sagacity  made  him  the  leader  of  the  "new  school" 
branch  of  our  church,  during  the  delicate  negotia- 
tions for  reunion  in  1867,  and  on  to  1870.  He  knew 
human  nature  well,  and  never  lost  either  his  temper 
or  his  faith  in  the  sure  result.  To-day  when  that 
old  lamentable  rupture  of  our  beloved  church  is  as 
much  a  matter  of  past  history  as  the  rupture  of  the 
Union  during  the  civil  war,  let  us  gratefully  remem- 
ber George  W.  Musgrave,  the  pilot  of  the  "old 
school."  and  William  Adams,  the  pilot  of  the  "new." 

The  last  sermon  that  I  ever  heard  Dr.  Adams  de- 
liver was  in  my  Lafayette  Avenue  Church  pulpit 
a  few  years  before  his  death.  His  text  was  the  clos- 
ing passage  of  the  fourth  chapter  of  Second  Corin- 
thians. The  whole  sermon  was  delivered  with  great 
majesty  and  tenderness.  One  illustration  in  it  was 
sublime.  He  was  comparing  the  "things  which  are 
seen  and  temporal"  with  the  "things  which  are  not 
seen  and  eternal."  He  described  Mont  Blanc  en- 


SOME  FAMOUS  AMERICAN  PREACHERS.  205 

veloped  in  a  morning  cloud  of  mist.  The  vapor  was 
the  seen  thing  which  was  soon  to  pass  away; — be- 
hind it  was  the  unseen  mountain,  glorious  as  the 
"great  white  throne"  which  should  stand  unmoved 
when  fifty  centuries  of  mist  had  flown  away  into 
nothingness.  This  passage  moved  the  audience  pro- 
digiously. Many  sat  gazing  at  the  tall  pale  orator 
before  them  through  their  tears.  The  portrait  of  Dr. 
Adams  hangs  on  my  study  wall — alongside  of  the 
portrait  of  Chalmers — and  as  I  look  at  his  majestic 
countenance  now,  I  still  seem  to  see  him  as  on  that 
Sabbath  morning  he  stood  before  us,  with  the  light 
of  eternity  beaming  on  his  brow ! 

In  the  summer  of  1845  I  was  strolling  with  my 
friend  Littell  (the  founder  of  the  Living  Age}, 
through  the  leafy  lanes  of  Brookline,  and  we  came 
to  a  tasteful  church.  "That,"  said  Mr.  Littell,  "is 
the  Harvard  Congregational  meeting  house.  They 
have  lately  called  a  brilliant  young  Mr.  Storrs,  who 
was  once  a  law  student  with  Rufus  Choate ;  he  is  a 
man  of  bright  promise."  Two  years  afterward  I 
saw  and  heard  that  brilliant  young  minister  in  the 
pulpit  of  the  newly  organized  Church  of  the  Pil- 
grims in  Brooklyn.  He  had  already  found  his  place, 
and  his  throne.  He  made  that  pulpit  visible  over 
the  continent.  That  church  will  be  "Dr.  Storrs' 
church"  for  many  a  year  to  come. 

Had  that  superbly  gifted  law  student  of  Choate 


206        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

gone  to  the  bar  he  would  inevitably  have  won  a 
great  distinction,  and  might  have  charmed  the 
United  States  Senate  by  his  splendid  eloquence. 
Perhaps  he  learned  from  Choate  some  lessons  in 
rhetoric  and  how  to  construct  those  long  melodious 
sentences  that  rolled  like  a  "Hallelujah  chorus" 
over  his  delighted  audiences.  But  young  Storrs 
chose  the  better  part,  and  no  temptation  of  fame  or 
pelf  allured  him  from  the  higher  work  of  preaching 
Jesus  Christ  to  his  fellow  men.  He  was — like  Chal- 
mers and  Bushnell  and  Spurgeon — a  born  preacher. 
Great  as  he  was  on  the  platform,  or  on  various  cere- 
monial occasions,  he  was  never  so  thoroughly  "at 
home"  as  in  his  own  pulpit;  his  great  heart  never 
so  kindled  as  when  unfolding  the  glorious  gospel  of 
redeeming  love.  The  consecration  of  his  splendid 
powers  to  the  work  of  the  ministry  helped  to  en- 
noble the  ministry  in  the  popular  eye,  and  led  young 
men  of  brains  to  feel  that  they  could  covet  no  higher 
calling. 

One  of  the  remarkable  things  in  the  career  of  Dr. 
Storrs  was  that  by  far  the  grandest  portion  of  that 
career  was  after  he  had  passed  the  age  of  fifty !  In- 
stead of  that  age  being,  as  to  many  others,  a  "dead 
line,"  it  was  to  him  an  intellectual  birth  line.  He 
returned  from  Europe — after  a  year  of  entire  rest — 
and  then,  like  "a  giant  refreshed  by  sleep,"  began  to 
produce  his  most  masterly  discourses  and  orations. 


SOME  FAMOUS  AMERICAN  PREACHERS.   207 

His  first  striking  performance  was  that  wonderful 
address  at  the  twenty-fifth  anniversary  of  Henry 
Ward  Beecher's  pastorate  in  Plymouth  Church,  at 
the  close  of  which  Mr.  Beecher  gave  him  a  grateful 
kiss  before  the  applauding  audience.  Not  long  after 
that  Dr.  Storrs  delivered  those  two  wonderful  lec- 
tures on  the  "Muscovite  and  the  Ottoman."  The 
Academy  of  Music  was  packed  to  listen  to  them; 
and  for  two  hours  the  great  orator  poured  out  a 
flood  of  history  and  gorgeous  description  without  a 
scrap  of  manuscript  before  him !  He  recalled  names 
and  dates  without  a  moment's  hesitation !  Like  Lord 
Macaulay,  Dr.  Storrs  had  a  marvelous  memory ;  and 
at  the  close  of  those  two  orations  I  said  to  myself, 
"How  Macaulay  would  have  enjojed  all  this !"  His 
extraordinary  memory  was  an  immense  source  of 
power  to  Dr.  Storrs ;  and,  although  he  had  a  rare 
gift  of  fluency,  yet  I  have  no  doubt  that  some  of  his 
fine  efforts,  which  were  supposed  to  be  extempora- 
neous, were  really  prepared  beforehand  and  lodged 
in  his  tenacious  memory. 

Dean  Stanley,  on  the  day  before,  he  returned  to 
England,  said  to  me :  "The  man  who  has  impressed 
me  most  is  your  Dr.  Storrs."  When  I  urged  the 
pastor  of  the  "Pilgrims"  to  go  over  to  the  great  In- 
ternational Council  of  Congregationalists  in  London 
and  show  the  English  people  a  specimen  of  Ameri- 
can preaching,  his  characteristic  reply  was,  "Oh,  I 


208        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

am  tired  of  these  show  occasions."  But  he  never 
grew  tired  of  preaching  Jesus  Christ  and  Him  cruci- 
fied. The  Bible  his  old  father  loved  was  the  book 
of  books  that  he  loved,  and  no  blasts  of  revolution- 
ary biblical  criticism  ever  ruffled  a  feather  on  the 
strong  wing  with  which  he  soared  heavenward.  A 
more  orthodox  minister  has  not  maintained  the  faith 
once  delivered  to  the  saints  in  our  time  than  he  for 
whom  Brooklyn's  flags  were  all  hung  at  half-mast 
on  the  day  of  his  death. 

All  the  world  knew  that  Richard  S.  Storrs  pos- 
sessed wonderful  brain  power,  culture  and  scholar- 
ship ;  but  only  those  who  were  closest  to  him  knew 
what  a  big  loving  heart  he  had.  Some  of  the  sweet- 
est and  tenderest  private  letters  that  I  ever  received 
came  from  his  ready  pen.  I  was  looking  over  some 
of  them  lately;  they  are  still  as  fragrant  as  if  pre- 
served in  lavender.  His  heart  was  a  very  pure 
fountain  of  noble  thought,  and  of  sweet,  unselfish 
affection. 

He  died  at  the  right  time ;  his  great  work  was 
complete;  he  did  not  linger  on  to  outlive  himself. 
The  beloved  wife  of  his  home  on  earth  had  gone 
on  before;  he  felt  lonesome  without  her,  and  grew 
homesick  for  heaven.  His  loving  flock  had  crowned 
him  with  their  grateful  benedictions ;  he  waited  only 
for  the  good-night  kiss  of  the  Master  he  served,  and 
he  awoke  from  a  transient  slumber  to  behold  the 


SOME  FAMOUS  AMERICAN  PREACHERS.    209 

ineffable  glory.  On  the  previous  day  his  illustrious 
Andover  instructor,  Professor  Edwards  A.  Park, 
had  departed;  it  was  fitting  that  Andover's  most 
illustrious  graduate  should  follow  him;  now  they  are 
both  in  the  presence  of  the  infinite  light,  and  they 
both  behold  the  King  in  His  beauty ! 

Fifty  years  ago  one  of  the  most  famous  celebrities 
in  the  Presbyterian  Church  was  Dr.  Samuel  Hanson 
Cox,  famous  for  his  linguistic  attainments,  for  his 
wit  and  occasional  eccentricities,  and  very  famous 
for  his  bursts  of  eloquence  on  great  occasions.  He 
was  at  that  time  the  pastor  of  the  First  Presbyterian 
Church  of  Brooklyn,  and  resided  in  the  street  where 
I  am  now  writing  (Oxford  Street)  ;  and  the  street 
at  the  end  of  the  block  was  named  "Hanson  Place" 
in  honor  of  him.  His  large  wooden  mansion  was 
then  quite  out  of  town,  and  was  accordingly  called 
"Rus  Urban."  In  that  house  he  wrote — for  the 
New  York  Observer — the  unique  series  of  articles 
on  New  School  Theology  entitled  "The  Hexagon," 
and  there  he  entertained,  with  his  elegant  courtesy 
and  endless  flow  of  wit  and  learning,  many  of  the 
most  eminent  people  who  visited  Brooklyn.  The 
boys  used  to  climb  into  his  garden  to  steal  fruit; 
and,  as  a  menace,  he  affixed  to  his  fence  a  large  pic- 
ture of  a  watch-dog,  and  underneath  it  a  dental 
sign,  "Teeth  inserted  here!"  The  old  mansion  was 
removed  years  ago. 


210        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

In  1846  he  was  the  moderator  of  the  "new  school" 
Presbyterian  General  Assembly.  It  was  during  the 
sessions  of  that  assembly  that  the  famous  debate 
was  waged  for  several  days  on  the  exciting  ques- 
tion of  negro  slavery,  and  when  some  compromise 
resolutions  were  passed  (for  those  were  the  days  of 
compromise  salves  and  plasters) — Dr.  Cox  rose  and 
exclaimed,  "Well,  brethren,  we  have  capped  Vesu- 
vius for  another  year."  But  "Vesuvius"  would  not 
stay  capped,  and  in  a  few  years  one  of  its  violent 
eruptions  sundered  the  "new  school"  church  in 
twain. 

Dr.  Cox  was  a  vehement  opponent  of  slavery,  and 
his  church  in  Laight  Street  was  assailed  by  a  mob, 
and  he  was  roughly  handled.  In  1833  he  was  sent 
to  England  as  the  delegate  to  the  British  and  For- 
eign Bible  Society,  and  at  their  anniversary  meet- 
ing he  delivered  one  of  the  most  brilliant  speeches 
of  his  life.  He  came  into  the  meeting  a  perfect 
stranger,  while  Dr.  Hamilton,  of  Leeds,  was  utter- 
ing a  fierce  invective  against  American  slavery. 
This  aroused  Dr.  Cox's  indignation,  and  when  he 
was  called  on  to  speak  he  commenced  with  exqui- 
site urbanity  as  follows :  "My  Lord  Bexley,  ladies 
and  gentlemen !  I  have  just  landed  from  America. 
Thirty  days  ago  I  came  down  the  bay  of  New  York 
in  the  steam  tug  Hercules  and  was  put  on  board  of 
the  good  packet  ship  Samson — thus  going  on  from 


SOME  FAMOUS  AMERICAN  PREACHERS.    211 

strength  to  strength — from  mythology  to  Scrip- 
ture!" This  bold  and  novel  introduction  brought 
down  the  house  with  a  thunder  of  applause.  After 
paying  some  graceful  tributes  to  England  and  thus 
winning  the  hearts  of  his  auditors,  he  suddenly 
turned  towards  Dr.  Hamilton,  and  with  the  most 
captivating  grace,  he  said:  "I  do  not  yield  to  my 
British  brother  in  righteous  abhorrence  of  the 
institution  of  negro  slavery.  I  abhor  it  all  the  more 
because  it  was  our  disastrous  inheritance  from  our 
English  forefathers,  and  came  down  to  us  from  the 
time  when  we  were  colonies  of  Great  Britain !  And 
now  if  my  brother  Hamilton  will  enact  the  part  of 
Shem,  I  will  take  the  place  of  Japhet,  and  we  will 
walk  backward  and  will  cover  with  the  mantle  of 
charity  the  shame  of  our  common  ancestry."  This 
sudden  burst  of  wit,  argument  and  eloquence  car- 
ried the  audience  by  storm,  and  they  were  obliged 
to  applaud  the  "Yankee  orator"  in  spite  of  them- 
selves. I  count  this  retort  by  Dr.  Cox  one  of  the 
finest  in  the  annals  of  oratory.  Several  years  after- 
wards he  visited  England  as  a  delegate  to  the  first 
Evangelical  Alliance.  It  was  attended  by  the  fore- 
most divines,  scholars  and  religious  leaders  of  both 
Britain  and  the  continent ;  and  a  brief  five-minutes' 
speech  made  by  Dr.  Cox  was  unanimously  pro- 
nounced to  have  been  the  most  splendid  display  of 
eloquence  heard  during  the  whole  convocation. 


212        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

He  owed  a  great  deal  to  his  commanding  figure, 
fine  voice,  and  graceful  elocution.  His  memory  also 
was  as  marvelous  as  that  of  Dr.  Storrs  or  Pro- 
fessor Addison  Alexander.  One  night,  for  the  en- 
tertainment of  his  fellow-passengers  in  a  stage- 
coach, he  repeated  two  cantos  of  Scott's  poem  of 
"Marmion"!  I  have  heard  him  quote,  in  a  public 
address  before  the  New  York  University,  a  whole 
page  of  Cicero  without  the  slip  of  a  single  word! 
His  passion  for  polysyllables  was  very  amusing,  and 
he  loved  to  astonish  his  hearers  by  his  "sesquipe- 
dalian" phraseology.  A  certain  visionary  crank 
once  intruded  into  his  study  and  bored  him  with  a 
long  dissertation.  Dr.  Cox's  patience  was  exhausted, 
and  pointing  to  the  door,  he  said:  "My  friend,  do 
you  observe  that  aperture  in  this  apartment?  If  you 
do,  I  wish  that  you  would  describe  rectilineals,  very 
speedily." 

I  could  fill  several  pages  with  racy  anecdotes  of 
the  keen  wit  and  the  varied  erudition  of  my  vener- 
able friend.  But  let  none  of  my  readers  think  of  Dr. 
Cox  as  a  clerical  jester,  or  a  pedant.  He  was  a  pow- 
erful and  intensely  spiritual  preacher  of  the  living 
Gospel.  In  his  New  York  congregation  were  many 
of  the  best  brains  and  fervent  hearts  to  be  found  in 
that  city,  and  some  of  the  leading  laymen  revered 
him  as  their  spiritual  father.  Sometimes  he  was 
betrayed  into  eccentricities,  and  his  vivid  imagina- 


SOME  FAMOUS  AMERICAN  PREACHERS.    213 

tion  often  carried  him  away  into  discursive  flights; 
yet  he  never  soared  out  of  sight  of  Calvary's  cross, 
and  never  betrayed  the  precious  Gospel  committed 
to  his  trust. 

The  first  time  that  I  ever  saw  Henry  Ward  Beecher 
was  in  1848.  He  was  then  mustering  his  new  con- 
gregation in  the  building  once  occupied  by  Dr.  Sam- 
uel H.  Cox.  It  was  a  weekly  lecture  service  that  I 
attended,  by  invitation  of  a  lady  who  invited  me  to 
"go  and  hear  our  new-come  genius  from  the  West." 
The  room  was  full,  and  at  the  desk  stood  a  brown- 
cheeked  young  man  with  smooth-shaved  face,  big 
lustrous  eyes,  and  luxuriant  brown  hair — with  a 
broad  shirt  collar  tied  with  a  black  ribbon.  His  text 
was  "Grow  in  Grace,"  and  he  gave  us  a  discourse 
that  Matthew  Henry  could  not  have  surpassed  in 
practical  pith,  or  Spurgeon  in  evangelical  fervor.  I 
used  to  tell  Mr.  Beecher  that  even  after  making  full 
allowance  for  the  novelty  of  a  first  hearing,  I  never 
heard  him  surpass  that  Wednesday  evening  lecture. 
He  was  plucking  the  first  ripe  grapes  of  his  affluent 
vintage ;  his  "pomegranates  were  in  full  flower,  and 
the  spikenard  sent  forth  its  fragrance."  The  very 
language  of  that  savory  sermon  lingers  in  my  mem- 
ory yet. 

During  my  ministry  in  New  York — from  1853  to 
1860 — I  became  intimate  with  Mr .  Beecher  and 
spoke  beside  him  on  many  a  platform  and  heard  him 


214        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

in  some  of  his  most  splendid  efforts.  He  was  a  fas- 
cinating companion,  with  the  rollicking  freedom  of 
a  schoolboy.  I  never  shall  forget  an  immense  meet- 
ing— in  behalf  of  a  liquor  prohibition  movement — 
held  in  Tripler  Hall.  Mr.  Beecher  was  at  his  best. 
In  the  midst  of  his  speech,  he  suddenly  discharged 
a  bombshell  against  negro  slavery  which  dynamited 
the  audience  and  provoked  a  thunder  of  applause. 
For  pure  eloquence  it  was  the  finest  outburst  I  ever 
heard  from  his  lips.  Like  Patrick  Henry,  Clay, 
Guthrie,  Spurgeon  and  other  great  masters  of  as- 
semblies, he  was  gifted  with  a  richly  melodious 
voice — which  was  especially  effective  on  the  low 
and  tender  keys.  This  gave  him  great  power  in 
the  pathetic  portions  of  his  discourses.  Of  his  su- 
perabounding  humor  I  need  not  speak.  It  bubbled 
out  so  naturally  and  spontaneously  that  he  found  it 
difficult  to  restrain  it  even  on  the  most  grave  occa- 
sions. Sometimes  he  sinned  against  good  taste, 
and  I  once  heard  his  sister  Catherine  say  that 
"Henry  rarely  delivered  a  speech  or  a  sermon  which 
did  not  contain  something  that  grated  on  her  ear." 
His  most  frequent  offenses  were  in  the  direction  of 
flippant  handling  of  sacred  themes  and  Scripture 
language.  This  he  inherited  from  his  illustrious 
father. 

Mr.  Beecher  is  generally  regarded  as  an  extem- 
poraneous preacher.     This  is  a  mistake.     He  pre- 


SOME  FAMOUS  AMERICAN  PREACHERS.    215 

pared  most  of  his  discourses  carefully,  and  full  one- 
half  of  many  of  them  were  written  out.  Among 
these  written  passages  he  interjected  bursts  of  im- 
promptu thoughts;  and  these  were  generally  the 
most  effective  passages  in  the  sermon.  While  he 
repeated  himself  often — especially  on  his  favorite 
topic  of  God's  love — yet  it  was  always  in  fresh  lan- 
guage and  with  new  illustrations.  Abraham  Lin- 
coln said  to  me,  "The  most  marvelous  thing  about 
Mr.  Beecher  is  his  inexhaustible  fertility." 

During  the  Civil  War  he  was  at  the  acme  of  his 
power.  He  was  then  the  peerless  orator  of  Chris- 
tendom. It  was  his  intention  (as  he  once  told  me) 
to  resign  his  pastorate  at  the  age  of  sixty  and  to  de- 
vote the  remainder  of  his  life  to  a  ministry  at  large. 
But  the  tempest  of  troubles  which  struck  him  about 
that  time  forbade  his  cherished  design,  and  he  con- 
tinued at  his  post  until  the  touch  of  death  silenced 
the  magic  tongue.  Nearly  thirty  years  have  elapsed 
since  I  sat  by  him  on  the  crowning  evening  of  his 
career,  at  his  "silver  anniversary,"  in  1873.  As  to 
his  later  utterances  in  theology,  and  on  some  ques- 
tions of  ethics,  I  dissented  from  my  old  friend  con- 
scientiously, and  I  expressed  to  him  my  dissent  very 
candidly, — as  becometh  brethren.  I  am  convinced 
that  if  there  were  more  fraternal  frankness  between 
the  living,  there  would  be  less  hypocrisy  over  the 
departed. 


2i6        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

Charles  G.  Finney  was  the  acknowledged  king  of 
American  evangelists  until  Dwight  L.  Moody  came 
on  the  stage  of  action.  They  resembled  each  other 
in  untiring  industry,  unflinching  courage,  unswerv- 
ing devotion  to  the  marrow  of  the  Gospel,  and  un- 
reserved consecration,  to  the  service  of  Christ.  The 
secret  of  Finney's  power  was  the  fearless  manner 
with  which  he  drove  God's  word  into  the  consciences 
of  sinners — high  or  humble — and  his  perpetual  re- 
liance on  the  immediate  presence  of  the  Holy  Spirit 
in  his  own  soul.  Emptied  of  sell  he  was  filled  with 
the  Holy  Spirit.  His  sermons  were  chain  light- 
ning, flashing  conviction  into  the  hearts  of  the 
stoutest  skeptics,  and  the  links  of  his  logic  were 
so  compact  that  they  defied  resistance.  Probably 
no  minister  in  America  ever  numbered  among  his 
converts  so  many  lawyers  and  men  of  intellectual 
culture. 

Soon  after  commencing  his  law  practice  he  was 
brought  under  the  most  intense  conviction  of  sin; 
and  the  narrative  of  his  conversion — as  given  in  his 
autobiography — equals  any  chapter  in  John  Bun- 
yan's  "Grace  Abounding."  After  light  and  peace 
broke  into  his  agonized  soul,  he  burst  into  tears  of 
joy,  and  exclaimed:  "I  am  so  happy  that  I  cannot 
live."  He  began  at  once  to  converse  with  his  neigh- 
bors about  their  souls.  When  a  certain  Deacon  B. 
came  into  his  office  and  reminded  him  that  his  cause 


SOME  FAMOUS  AMERICAN  PREACHERS.    217 

was  to  be  tried  at  ten  o'clock  that  morning,  Mr. 
Finney  replied,  "Deacon  B.,  1  have  a  retainer  from 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  to  plead  His  cause,  and  can- 
not plead  yours."  The  deacon  was  thunderstruck, 
and  went  off.  and  settled  his  suit  with  his  antago- 
nist immediately. 

From  that  time  a  law  office  was  no  place  for  the 
fervid  spirit  of  Charles  G.  Finney,  and  he  resolved 
at  once  to  prepare  for  the  ministry. 

Revivals  followed  his  red-hot  discourses  wher- 
ever he  went.  At  Auburn  he  declares  that  he  had — 
during  prayer  in  his  own  room — a  wonderful  vision 
in  which  God  drew  so  near  to  him  that  his  flesh 
trembled  on  his  bones,  and  he  shook  from  head  to 
foot  as  if  amid  the  thunderings  of  Sinai!  He  felt 
an  assurance  that  God  would  sustain  him  against 
all  his  enemies ;  and  then  there  came  a  "great  lifting 
up,"  and  a  sweet  calm  followed  after  the  agitation. 
Such  extraordinary  spiritual  experiences  occurred 
quite  often  during  his  career  as  a  revivalist,  and 
they  remind  one  strikingly  of  similar  experiences  of 
John  Bunyan — to  whom  Finney  bore  a  certain  de- 
gree of  resemblance.  At  Rochester  many  of  the 
leading  lawyers  were  attracted  by  his  bold  and  log- 
ical style  of  speech;  and  among  his  converts  there 
was  the  distinguished  jurist,  Addison  Gardner.  It 
was  during  his  ministry  in  New  York  that  he  deliv- 
ered his  celebrated  "Lectures  on  Revivals,"  which 


2i8        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

were  reprinted  abroad  and  translated  into  several 
foreign  languages.  Of  all  Mr.  Finney's  published 
productions,  these  lectures  are  the  most  characteris- 
tic. Often  extravagant  in  their  rhetoric,  and  some- 
times rather  reckless  in  theological  statements,  they 
contain  a  mine  of  pungent  truth  which  every  young 
minister  ought  to  possess  and  to  peruse  very  often. 
I  shall  never  cease  to  thank  God  for  the  inspiration 
they  have  imparted  to  my  own  humble  ministry; 
and  they  have  had  a  place  in  my  library  close  beside 
the  "Pilgrim's  Progress,"  and  the  biographies  of 
Payson  and  McCheyne,  and  the  soul-quickening  ser- 
mons of  Bushnell,  Addison  Alexander  and  Dr.  Mc- 
Laren. 

After  his  extended  evangelistic  labors  in  various 
cities,  Mr.  Finney  was  appointed  to  a  theological 
chair  in  the  newly  organized  college  at  Ober- 
lin,  Ohio.  From  this  post,  his  irrepressible 
desire  to  kindle  revivals  and  to  save  souls 
often  called  him  away,  and  he  conducted  two  fa- 
mous evangelistic  campaigns  in  Great  Britain.  He 
was  the  first  man  to  introduce  American  revivalistic 
methods  into  England  and  Scotland ;  but  his  labors 
were  never  as  wide,  as  influential,  and  generally  ac- 
ceptable there  as  the  subsequent  labors  of  Messrs. 
Moody  and  Sankey.  Forty  years  of  his  busy  and 
heaven-blessed  life  were  spent  at  Oberlin,  where  he 
impressed  his  powerful  personality  on  a  multitude 


SOME  FAMOUS  AMERICAN  PREACHERS.    219 

of  students  of  both  sexes ;  few  religious  teachers  in 
America  have  ever  moulded  so  many  lives,  or  had 
their  opinions  echoed  from  so  many  pulpits. 

With  all  my  admiration  of  President  Finney's 
character,  I  could  not — as  a  loyal  Princetonian — 
subscribe  to  some  of  his  peculiar  opinions.  It  was, 
therefore,  with  great  surprise  that  I  received  from 
him  a  letter  in  1873  (two  years  before  his  death) 
which  contained  the  startling  proposal  that  I  should 
be  his  successor  in  the  college  pulpit  at  Oberlin !  He 
wrote  to  me :  "I  think  that  there  is  no  more  impor- 
tant field  of  ministerial  labor  in  the  world.  I  know 
that  you  have  a  great  congregation  in  Brooklyn,  and 
are  mightily  prospered  in  your  labors,  but  your  flock 
does  not  contain  a  thousand  students  pursuing  the 
higher  branches  of  education  from  year  to  year. 
Surely  your  field  in  Brooklyn  is  not  more  important 
than  mine  was  at  the  Broadway  Tabernacle  in  New 
York,  nor  can  your  people  be  more  attached  to  you 
than  mine  were  to  me."  This  letter — although  its 
kind  overture  was  promptly  declined — was  a  grati- 
fying proof  that  the  once  bitter  controversies  be- 
tween "old  school"  and  "new  school"  had  become 
quite  obsolete.  When  I  mentioned  this  letter  to  my 
beloved  Princeton  instructor,  Dr.  Charles  Hodge, 
a  few  weeks  before  his  death,  he  simply  remarked 
that  "his  Brother  Finney  had  become  very  sweet 
and  mellow  in  his  later  years."  And  long  before 


220        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

this  time  the  two  great  antagonistic  theologians  may 
have  clasped  hands  in  heaven. 

The  closing  years  of  President  Finney's  useful  life 
were  indeed  mellow  and  most  lovable.  In  the  days 
of  his  prime  he  had  a  commanding  form,  a  striking 
face  and  a  clear,  incisive  style  of  speech.  Simple 
as  a  child  in  his  utterances,  he  sometimes  startled 
his  hearers  by  his  unique  prayers.  For  example, 
he  was  one  day  driven  from  his  study  at  Oberlin 
by  a  refractory  stove-pipe  which  persisted  in  tum- 
bling down.  At  family  worship  in  the  evening  he 
said :  "Oh,  Lord !  thou  knowest  how  the  temper  of 
Thy  servant  has  been  tried  to-day  by  that  stove- 
pipe!" Several  other  expressions,  quite  as  quaint 
and  as  piquant,  might  be  quoted,  if  the  limits  of  this 
brief  sketch  would  permit.  What  would  be  deemed 
irreverent  if  spoken  by  some  lips  never  sounded  ir- 
reverent when  uttered  by  such  a  natural,  fearless 
and  yet  devout  a  spirit  as  Charles  G.  Finney.  He 
retained  his  erect,  manly  form,  his  fresh  enthusiasm 
and  intellectual  vigor,  to  the  ripe  old  age  of  eighty- 
three.  On  a  calm  Sabbath  evening — in  August, 
1875 — he  walked  in  his  garden  and  listened  to  the 
music  from  a  neighboring  church.  Retiring  to  his 
chamber,  the  messenger  from  his  Master  met  him  in 
the  midnight  hours,  and  before  the  morning  dawned 
his  glorified  spirit  was  before  the  throne !  His  is  the 
crown  of  one  who  turned  many  to  righteousness. 


SOME  FAMOUS  AMERICAN  PREACHERS.    221 

While  I  am  writing  this  chapter  of  ministerial 
reminiscences,  I  receive  the  sorrowful  tidings  that 
my  dear  old  friend,  Dr.  Benjamin  M.  Palmer,  of 
New  Orleans — the  prince  of  Southern  preachers — 
has  closed  his  illustrious  career.  To  the  last  his 
splendid  powers  were  unabated, — and  last  year  (al- 
though past  eighty-three)  he  delivered  one  of  his 
greatest  sermons  before  the  University  of  Georgia! 
His  massive  discourses,  based  on  God's  word,  were 
a  solid  pile  of  concinnate  argument,  illuminated  with 
the  divine  light,  and  glowing  with  the  divine  love 
shed  abroad  in  his  heart.  In  the  spring  of  1887, 
Mrs.  Cuyler  and  myself  visited  New  Orleans,  and 
I  cared  more  to  see  Dr.  Palmer  than  all  the  city  be- 
sides. He  cordially  welcomed  me  to  the  hospitali- 
ties of  his  house,  and  of  that  pulpit  which  had  so 
long  been  his  throne.  I  do  not  wonder  that  the  peo- 
ple of  New  Orleans — of  all  classes  and  creeds — re- 
garded him  not  only  with  pride,  but  with  an  affec- 
tion that  greeted  him  at  every  step  through  the  city 
of  which  he  was  the  foremost  citizen. 

As  my  readers  may  all  know,  Dr.  Palmer,  through 
the  Civil  War,  was  a  most  ardent  Secessionist,  and 
as  honestly  so  as  I  was  a  Unionist.  He  spent  much 
time  in  preaching  to  the  Confederate  soldiers,  and 
he  narrated  to  me  an  amusing  incident  which  illus- 
trated his  calm  and  imperturbable  temperament.  On 
a  certain  fast-day  (appointed  by  the  Confederate 


222        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

authorities)  he  was  to  preach  in  a  rural  church 
within  the  Confederate  lines.  The  Northern  army 
was  lying  so  close  to  them  that  a  battle  was  immi- 
nent at  any  moment.  Dr.  Palmer  had  begun  his 
"long  prayer,"  when  a  Federal  shell  landed  imme- 
diately under  the  windows  of  the  church  and  ex- 
ploded with  a  terrific  crash !  The  doctor  was  not  to 
be  shelled  out  of  his  duty,  and  he  went  steadily  on  to 
the  end  of  his  prayer.  When  he  opened  his  eyes  the 
house  was  deserted!  His  congregation  had  slipped 
quietly  out,  and  left  him  "alone  in  his  glory." 

Soon  after  my  visit  to  New  Orleans,  my  old 
friend  was  sorely  bereaved  by  the  death  of  his  wife. 
I  wrote  him  a  letter  of  condolence,  and  his  reply 
was,  for  sweetness  and  sublimity,  worthy  of  Sam- 
uel Rutherford  or  Richard  Baxter.  As  both  hus- 
band and  wife  are  now  reunited  I  venture  to  pub- 
lish a  portion  of  this  wonderful  letter — both  as  a 
message  of  consolation  to  others  under  a  similar  be- 
reavement and  as  a  tribute  to  the  great  loving 
heart  of  Benjamin  M.  Palmer. 

He  says :  "Truly  my  sorrow  is  a  sorrow  wholly  by 
itself.  What  is  to  be  done  with  a  love  which  be- 
longs only  to  one,  when  that  one  is  gone  and  can- 
not take  it  up  ?  It  cannot  perish,  for  it  has  become  a 
part  of  our  own  being.  What  shall  we  do  with  a 
lost  love  which  wanders  like  a  ghost  through  all  the 
chambers  of  the  soul  only  to  feel  how  empty  they 


SOME  FAMOUS  AMERICAN  PREACHERS.    223 

are?  I  have  about  me — blessed  be  God!  a  dear 
daughter  and  grandchildren;  but  I  cannot  divide  this 
love  among  them,  for  it  is  incapable  of  distribu- 
tion. What  remains  but  to  send  it  upward  until  it 
finds  her  to  whom  it  belongs  by  right  of  concentra- 
tion through  more  than  forty  years. 

"I  will  not  speak,  my  brother,  of  my  pain — let  that 
be;  it  is  the  discipline  of  love,  having  its  fruit  in  what 
is  to  be.  But  I  will  tell  you  how  a  gracious  Father 
fills  this  cloud  with  Himself — and  covering  me  in  it, 
takes  me  into  His  pavilion.  It  is  not  what  I  would 
have  chosen ;  but  in  this  dark  cloud  I  know  better 
what  it  is  to  be  alone  with  Him ;  and  how  it  is  best 
sometimes  to  put  out  the  earthly  lights,  that  even 
the  sweetest  earthly  love  may  not  come  between 
Him  and  me.  It  is  the  old  experience  of  love  break- 
ing through  the  darkness  as  it  did  long  ago  through 
the  terrors  of  Sinai  and  the  more  appalling  gloom  or 
Calvary.  I  have  this  to  thank  Him  for,  the  greatest  of 
all  His  mercies,  and  then  for  this,  that  He  gave  her 
to  me  so  long.  The  memories  of  almost  half  a  cen- 
tury encircle  me  as  a  rainbow.  I  can  feed  upon  them 
through  the  remainder  of  a  short,  sad  life,  and  after 
that  can  carry  them  up  to  Heaven  with  me  and  pour 
them  into  song  forever.  If  the  strings  of  the  harp 
are  being  stretched  to  a  greater  tension,  it  is  that  the 
praise  may  hereafter  rise  to  higher  and  sweeter  notes 
before  His  throne — a?  we  bow  together  there." 


CHAPTER  XV 

\ 

SUMMERING  AT  SARATOGA  AND  MOHONK. 

Bishop  Haven. — Dr.  Schaff. — President  McCosh. 

To  the  laborious  pastor  of  a  large  congregation 
some  period  of  recuperation  during  the  summer  is 
absolutely  indispensable.  The  cavalry  officer  who, 
when  hotly  pursued  by  the  enemy,  discovered  that 
his  saddle-girths  had  become  loose,  and  dismounted 
long  enough  to  tighten  them,  was  a  wise  man,  and 
affords  a  good  example  to  us  ministers. 

It  was  my  custom  to  call  a  halt,  lock  my  study 
door  (stowing  away  my  pastoral  cares  in  a  drawer) 
and  go  away  for  five  or  six  weeks,  and  sometimes 
a  little  longer.  A  sea  voyage  was  undertaken  dur- 
ing half  a  dozen  vacations,  but  during  a  portion  of 
forty-two  summers  I  "pitched  my  moving  tent"  in 
salubrious  Saratoga,  and  a  part  of  twenty-one  sum- 
mers was  spent  on  the  heights  of  Mohonk. 

As  this  volume  is  issued  in  London  as  well  as 
in  New  York,  I  will  mention  some  things  in  this 
chapter  for  my  British  readers  with  which  many 
of  my  own  fellow-countrymen  may  be  already  fa- 
miliar. There  were  several  reasons  that  induced 
224 


SUMMERING  AT  SARATOGA  AND  MOHONK.     225 

me  to  select  Saratoga  early  in  my  ministry  as  the 
best  place  to  spend  a  part  of  the  summer  vacation. 
It  is  the  most  widely  known  the  world  over  of  any 
of  our  American  watering  places  and  is  an  exceed- 
ingly beautiful  town.  Its  spacious  Broadway,  lined 
with  stately  elms,  is  one  of  the  most  sightly  avenues 
in  our  land ;  and  some  of  the  superb  hotels  that  front 
upon  it  fulfill  the  American  demand  for  "bigness." 
The  most  attractive  spot  to  me  has  always  been  the 
beautiful  park  that  surrounds  the  famous  Congress 
Spring,  and  to  which  every  morning  I  made  my  very 
early  pilgrimage  for  my  draught  of  its  sparkling 
water. 

The  park  covers  but  a  few  acres,  but  it  is  a  con- 
tinuous loveliness.  When  its  rich,  soft  greensward 
— worthy  of  Yorkshire  or  Devonshire — was  spar- 
kling with  the  dew,  and  the  fountains  were  in  full 
play,  and  the  goodly  breeze  was  singing  through 
the  trees,  it  was  a  place  in  which  to  chant  Dr.  Ar- 
nold's favorite  hymn: — 

"Come,  my  soul,  thou  must  be  waking; 
Now  is  breaking 
O'er  the  earth  another  day: 
Come  to  Him  who  made  this  splendor, 
See  thou  render 
All  thy  feeble  strength  can  pay." 

The  second  reason  for  my  choice  of  Saratoga  was 
the  variety  of  the  wonderful  medicinal  waters,  and 


226        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

their  renovating  effects.  "I  can  winter  better," 
said  Governor  Buckingham,  "for  even  a  short  sum- 
mer at  Saratoga,"  and  my  experience  was  quite 
similar.  I  honestly  believe  that  those  waters  have 
prolonged  my  life.  In  addition  to  the  many  health 
fountains  which  have  been  veritable  Bethesdas  to 
multitudes,  the  dry,  bracing  atmosphere  is  perfumed 
and  tempered  by  the  breezes  from  the  pine  forests 
of  the  Adirondack  Mountains.  While  some  are  at- 
tracted to  Saratoga  by  the  waters  and  others  by  the 
air,  I  found  both  of  them  equally  beneficial.  As 
far  as  its  social  life  is  concerned,  there  are,  as  in  all 
summer  resorts,  two  very  different  descriptions  of 
guests.  One  class  are  devotees  of  fashion,  who  go 
there  to  gratify  the  "lust  of  the  eye,  and  the  pride 
of  life."  They  drive  by  day  and  dance  by  night; 
but  some  devotees  of  pleasure  have  yielded  too 
much  to  the  ensnarements  of  the  gaming  table  and 
the  race  course.  There  is  another  and  a  more  nu- 
merous class  made  up  of  quiet  business  men  and 
their  families,  clergymen,  college  professors  and 
persons  in  impaired  health,  who  go  for  recreation 
or  recuperation.  From  this  latter  class,  and  in  some 
measure  indeed  from  the  former  also,  the  churches 
of  the  town  attract  very  large  congregations.  It  has 
been  my  privilege  to  deliver  a  little  more  than  two 
hundred  sermons  in  Saratoga,  and  there  is  no  place 
in  which  I  have  found  that  a  faithful  and  practical 


SUMMERING  AT  SARATOGA  AND  MOHONK.    227 

presentation  of  the  "word  of  life"  is  more  eagerly 
welcomed.  It  is  no  place  to  exhibit  a  show  sermon 
on  dress  parade,  but  it  is  the  very  one  in  which  to 
press  home  the  word  on  hearts  and  consciences,  to 
arouse  the  impenitent,  to  give  tonic  truth  to  the 
weak  and  the  weary,  to  afford  the  word  of  comfort 
to  the  sorrowing  and  soul-food  to  the  many  who 
hunger  for  the  heavenly  manna.  I  have  already 
narrated  some  of  my  pleasant  experiences  in  preach- 
ing at  Saratoga,  and  I  could  add  to  them  several 
other  interesting  incidents. 

For  about  thirty  summers,  and  occasionally  in 
the  winter,  I  found  a  happy  home  at  Dr.  Strong's 
"Remedial  Institute"  on  Circular  Street.  This  is  a 
family  hotel  during  the  summer,  and  a  sanitarium 
during  the  remainder  of  the  year.  Every  morning 
the  guests  assemble  for  worship,  and  the  intolerable 
trio  of  fashion,  frivolity  and  fiddles,  has  never  in- 
vaded the  refined  and  congenial  atmosphere  of  the 
house.  My  host,  Dr.  Strong,  is  an  active  member 
of  the  Methodist  Church  in  that  town,  and  naturally 
a  large  number  of  ministers  of  that  denomination 
are  his  summer  guests.  This  was  very  pleasant  for 
me,  for,  although  I  am  loyally  attached  to  my  own 
"clan,"  yet  I  have  a  peculiarly  warm  side  for  the 
ecclesiastical  followers  of  the  Wesleys,  and  am  some  • 
times  introduced  in  their  conferences  as  a  "Metho- 
distical  Presbyterian."  At  Dr.  Strong's  I  met  many 


228        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

of  the  leading  Methodist  ministers,  and  was  exceed- 
ingly "filled  with  their  company."  I  met,  among 
others,  the  sweet-spirited  Bishop  Jaynes,  who  always 
seemed  to  be  a  legitimate  successor  of  the  beloved 
disciple  John.  If  Bishop  Jaynes  recalled  the 
apostle  John,  let  me  say  that  the  venerated  father 
of  my  kind  host  and  the  founder  of  the  Sanitarium, 
the  late  Dr.  Sylvester  S.  Strong,  was  such  an  imper- 
sonation of  charming  courtesy  and  fervid  spirit- 
uality that  he  might  be  a  counterpart  of  "Luke 
the  beloved  physician."  He  was  an  admirable 
preacher  before  he  entered  the  medical  profession. 
Bishop  Peck  was  a  very  entertaining  companion 
and  most  fraternal  in  his  warmheartedness.  He 
was  a  man  of  colossal  proportions,  and  it  was 
quite  proper  that  he  was  appointed  to  the  charge 
of  the  churches  in  the  wide  regions  of  Cali- 
fornia and  Oregon.  When  he  came  thence  to  the 
General  Conference,  he  presented  his  protuberant 
figure  to  the  assembly,  and  began  with  the  humorous 
announcement,  "The  Pacific  slope  salutes  you !"  On 
that  same  "slope"  I  discovered  last  year  that 
Methodism  has  outgrown  even  the  formidable  pro- 
portions of  my  old  friend  Dr.  Peck. 

At  Saratoga  I  first  met  the  eloquent  Apollos  of 
American  Methodism,  Bishop  Matthew  Simpson. 
Those  who  ever  heard  Henry  Clay  in  our  Senate 
chamber,  or  Dr.  Thomas  Guthrie  in  Scotland,  have 


SUMMERING  AT  SARATOGA  AND  MOHONK.     225 

a  very  distinct  idea  of  what  Simpson  was  at  his 
flood-tide  of  irresistible  oratory.  He  resembled  both 
of  those  great  orators  in  stature  and  melodious 
voice,  in  graceful  gesture,  and  in  the  magnificent 
enthusiasm  that  swept  everything  before  him.  Like 
all  that  type  of  fascinating  speakers — to  which  even 
Gladstone  belonged — he  was  rather  to  be  heard  than 
to  be  read.  It  is  enough  that  a  Gospel  preacher 
should  produce  great  immediate  impressions  on  his 
auditors ;  it  is  not  necessary  that  he  should  produce 
a  finished  and  permanent  piece  of  literature.  Bishop 
Simpson  was  the  bosom  friend  of  Abraham  Lin- 
coln, and  on  more  than  one  occasion  he  knelt  beside 
our  much  harassed  President  and  prayed  for  the 
strength  equal  to  the  day  of  trial. 

Among  all  the  guests  there  was  none  to  whom 
I  was  more  closely  and  lovingly  drawn  than  to 
Bishop  Gilbert  Haven.  None  shed  off  such  splen- 
did scintillations  in  our  evening  colloquies  on  the 
piazzas.  Haven  was  not  comparable  with  his  asso- 
ciate, Bishop  Simpson,  in  pulpit  oratory,  for  he  was 
rarely  an  effective  public  speaker  on  any  occasion, 
but  in  brilliancy  of  thought,  which  made  him  in  con- 
versation like  the  charge  of  an  electric  battery,  and 
in  brilliancy  of  pen,  that  kindled  everything  it 
touched,  he  was  without  a  rival  in  the  Methodist 
Church — or  almost  in  any  other  church  in  the  land. 
Consistently  and  conscientiously  a  radical,  he  always 


230        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

took  extreme  ground  on  such  questions  as  negro 
rights,  female  suffrage,  and  liquor  prohibition,  and 
he  never  retreated.  Underneath  all  this  impulsive 
and  impetuous  radicalism  he  was  thoroughly  old- 
fashioned  and  orthodox  in  his  theology — as  far 
from  Calvinism  as  any  Wesleyan  usually  is.  He  did 
delight  in  the  doctrines  of  grace  with  his  whole 
heart,  and  it  is  all  the  more  grateful  to  me,  as  a 
Presbyterian,  to  pay  this  honest  tribute  to  his  deeply 
devout  and  Christ-like  character.  I  knew  him  when 
he  was  a  student  in  the  Wesleyan  University  at 
Middletown — somewhat  rustic  in  his  ways,  but  a 
bold,  bright  youth  hungry  for  knowledge.  In  1862 
he  published  a  series  of  foreign  letters  in  the  New 
York  Independent,  which  Horace  Greeley  told  me 
he  regarded  as  most  remarkable  productions.  Dur- 
ing the  summer  of  that  year  I  was  watching  the  sun 
rise  from  the  summit  of  the  Righi  in  Switzerland, 
and  was  accosted  by  a  sandy-haired  man  in  an  old 
oilcloth  overcoat  who  asked  for  some  explanation 
about  the  mountain  within  our  view.  At  the  foot  of 
the  Righi  I  fell  in  with  him  again,  and  was  struck 
with  his  original  and  vigorous  thought.  The  same 
evening  he  marched  into  my  room  at  the  "Schweit- 
zer-Hoff,"  dripping  with  the  rain,  and  introduced 
himself  as  "Gilbert  Haven."  We  ministered  to  the 
few  Americans  whom  we  could  find  in  Lucerne,  and 
held  a  prayer  meeting  on  the  Sabbath  evening  in 


SUMMERING  AT  SARATOGA  AND  MOHONK.     231 

Haven's  room  for  our  far-away  country  in  her  dark 
hour  of  distress.  On  that  evening  began  a  friend- 
ship which  waxed  warmer  and  warmer  until  death 
sundered  the  tie  for  a  little  while;  the  same  hand 
that  sundered  can  reunite  us. 

I  am  under  a  strong  temptation  to  give  my 
reminiscences  of  many  notable  persons  whom  I  was 
wont  to  meet  at  Saratoga,  such  as  the  urbane  ex- 
President  Martin  Van  Buren,  and  that  noble  Chris- 
tian statesman,  Vice-President  Henry  Wilson,  and 
the  cheery  old  poet  John  Pierpont,  and  the  erudite 
Horatio  B.  Hackett,  of  Newton  Theological  Semi- 
nary and  the  level-headed  Miss  Catherine  E. 
Beecher,  and  the  gifted  Queen  of  the  great  temper- 
ance sisterhood,  Miss  Frances  E  Willard,  and 
General  Batcheler,  the  able  American  Judge,  at 
Cairo,  and  that  extraordinary  combination  of 
courage,  orthodox  faith,  and  brilliant  platform  elo- 
quence the  late  Joseph  Cook,  of  Ticonderoga.  I 
would  like  also  to  attempt  a  description  of  the 
gorgeous  "Floral  Festivals,"  which  are  celebrated 
in  every  September,  when  the  streets  of  the  town 
blaze  with  processions  of  vehicles  decorated  with 
flowers,  and  the  sidewalks  and  house-fronts  are 
packed  with  thousands  of  delighted  spectators;  but 
if  "of  making  many  books  there  is  no  end,"  there 
ought  to  be  a  proper  end  in  the  making  of  a  book. 
In  the  course  of  my  life  I  may  have  done  some  very 


232         RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

foolish  things,  and  quite  too  many  sinful  things,  but 
I  have  always  endeavored  to  avoid  doing  too  long  a 
thing,  if  it  were  possible. 

During  the  last  twenty-three  years  I  have  spent  a 
portion  of  almost  every  summer  at  Mohonk  Lake 
Mountain  House,  a  hostlery  equally  celebrated  for 
the  culture  of  its  guests  and  charms  of  its  scenery. 
It  is  situated  on  a  spur  of  the  Shawangunk  Moun- 
tains, about  six  miles  from  New  Paltz,  on  the  Wall- 
kill  Valley  Railway.  Its  discoverer  and  proprietor  is 
Albert  K.  Smiley,  who  was  for  many  years  presi- 
dent of  a  Quaker  Ladies  Academy  in  Providence, 
R.  L,  and  is  a  gentleman  of  fine  scholarship  and 
varied  attainments.  He  is  quite  equal  to  discussing 
geology  with  Professor  Guyot  (from  whom  one 
of  the  highest  hilltops  near  his  house  is  named),  or 
art  with  Huntingdon,  or  botany  or  landscape  garden- 
ing with  Frederick  L.  Olmstead,  or  theology  with 
Dr.  Schaff,  or  questions  of  philanthropy  with  Gen- 
eral Armstrong  or  Booker  T.  Washington. 

The  distinctive  character  of  the  house  is  that  there 
is  a  notable  absence  of  what  is  regarded  as  the  chief 
attractions  of  some  fashionable  summer  resorts. 
Neither  bar  nor  bottles  nor  ball-room  nor  bands  are 
to  be  found  in  this  Christian  home; —  for  a  home 
it  is — in  its  restful  and  refining  influences.  The 
young  people  find  no  lack  of  innocent  enjoyment  in 
the  bowling  alley  or  on  the  golf  links,  in  the  tennis 


SUMMERING  AT  SARATOGA  AND  MOHONK.    233 

tournaments  or  in  rowing  upon  the  lake,  with  fre- 
quent regattas.  Instead  of  the  midnight  dance  the 
evening  hours  are  made  enjoyable  by  social  conver- 
sation, by  musical  entertainments,  by  parlor  lectures 
and  other  interesting  pastimes.  The  Sabbath  at 
Mohonk  realizes  old  George  Herbert's  description 
of  the 

"Sweet  day  so  cool,   so  calm,  so  bright, 
The  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky ;" 

Not  a  boat  is  loosened  from  its  wharf  on  the  lake ; 
not  a  carriage  is  geared  up  for  a  pleasure  drive,  and 
many  a  guest  has  learned  how  a  Sabbath  spent  with- 
out the  introduction  of  either  business  cares  or  fri- 
volities may  be  a  joyous  refreshment  to  both  body 
and  soul.  The  spacious  parlor  is  always  crowded 
for  the  service  of  worship  on  every  morning  during 
the  week  and  also  on  the  Sabbath.  I  can  testify  that 
on  the  three-score  Sabbaths  when  I  have  been  called 
upon  to  conduct  the  services,  I  have  never  found 
a  more  inspiring  auditory. 

It  is  no  easy  thing  to  put  the  external  beauties 
of  Mohonk  upon  paper.  The  estate  covers  four 
thousand  acres,  and  is  intersected  with  about  fifty 
miles  of  fine  carriage  drives.  The  garden,  which  con- 
tains a  dozen  acres,  is  ablaze  during  the  most  of  the 
season  with  millions  of  flowers — many  of  them  of 
rare  variety.  As  the  glory  of  Saratoga  is  its  springs, 
of  Lake  George  its  islands,  of  Trenton  Falls  the 


234        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

amber  hue  of  its  waters,  so  the  glory  of  Mohonk 
is  its  rocks.  The  little  lake  is  a  crystal  cup  cut  out 
of  the  solid  conglomerated  quartz.  Its  shores  are 
steep  quartz  rocks  rising  fifty  feet  perpendicularly 
from  the  water.  The  face  of  "Sky  Top"  is  heaped 
around  with  enormous  boulders  some  thirty  feet  in 
diameter.  In  among  them  extend  rocky  labyrinths 
which  can  be  explored  with  torches.  On  every  hand 
are  immense  masses  of  Shawangunk  grit  hurled  to- 
gether over  the  cliff  as  if  with  the  convulsions  of  an 
earthquake.  Upon  these  acres  of  rock  around  the 
lake  grow  the  most  luxuriant  lichens  and  the  for- 
ests in  June  are  efflorescent  with  laurels  and  azalias. 
The  finest  point  of  vantage  is  on  Eagle  Cliff ;  I  have 
climbed  there  often  to  see  the  sun  go  down  in  a  blaze 
of  glory  behind  the  Catskill  Mountains.  The 
three  highest  peaks  of  the  Catskills — Hunter,  Slide, 
and  Peekamoose — were  in  full  view,  in  purple 
and  gold.  Beneath  me  on  one  side  was  the  verdant 
valley  of  Rondout;  on  the  other  side  the  equally 
beautiful  valley  of  the  Wallkill.  In  the  dim  distance 
we  could  discover  the  summits  of  the  mountains  in 
Pennsylvania,  New  Jersey,  Connecticut  and  Mas- 
sachusetts. 

When  I  took  Newman  Hall,  toward  sunset,  to  a 
crag  or  cliff  overlooking  the  lake,  he  said  to  me: 
"Next  to  Niagara  I  have  seen  nothing  in  America 
equal  to  this." 


SUMMERING  AT  SARATOGA  AND  MOHONK.    235 

Mohonk  has  been  a  farvorite  summer  resort  of 
many  of  the  most  distinguished  people  in  our  land. 
The  Honorable  Rutherford  B.  Hayes,  after  his  re- 
tirement from  the  presidential  chair,  loved  to  find 
recreation  in  rowing  his  boat  on  the  lake,  and  in 
making  the  ascent  of  Sky  Top.  President  Arthur 
came  there  during  his  term  of  office ;  and  the  widow 
of  General  Grant,  after  spending  a  fortnight  there, 
pronounced  it  the  most  fascinating  spot  she  had  ever 
seen  on  this  continent.  Among  all  the  guests  who 
made  their  summer  home  there,  none  contributed 
more  to  the  intellectual  enrichment  of  the  company 
than  my  revered  Christian  friend,  Dr.  Philip 
Schaff.  No  American  of  our  day  had  such  a  vast 
personal  acquaintance  with  celebrated  people.  Dr. 
Schaff  was  the  intimate  friend  of  Tholuck,  Neander, 
Godet,  Hengstenberg,  and  Dorner ;  he  was  one  day 
in  familiar  conversation  with  Dean  Stanley  in  the 
Abbey  and  another  day  with  Gladstone ;  another  day 
with  Dollinger .  in  Vienna,  and  another  day  with 
Dr.  Pusey  at  Oxford.  The  promise,  "He  shall  stand 
before  kings,"  was  often  fulfilled  to  him.  The  vet- 
eran Kaiser  William  had  him  at  the  royal  table,  and 
gave  him  intimate  interview.  The  King  and  Queen 
of  Denmark  came  on  the  platform  to  congratulate 
him  after  one  of  his  eloquent  speeches,  and  the 
Queen  of  Greece  was  one  of  his  correspondents.  He 
shook  hands  with  more  ministers  of  all  denomina- 


236         RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

tions,  and  of  all  nationalities  than  any  man  of  this 
age.  He  was  as  cordially  treated  by  Archbishop 
Canterbury  as  he  was  by  Bismarck  at  Berlin  or  the 
old  Russian  Archpriest  Brashenski.  Dr.  Schaff  was 
a  prodigy  of  industry.  During  half  a  century  he 
was  the  foremost  church  historian  of  this  country; 
he  led  the  work  of  the  Sabbath  Committee,  and  was 
the  master  spirit  of  the  Evangelical  Alliance.  He 
edited  a  volume  of  hymnology,  and  wrote  catechisms 
for  children ;  he  filled  professors'  chairs  in  two  semi- 
naries and  lectured  on  ecclesiastical  history  toothers. 
He  published  thirty-one  volumes  and  edited  two 
immense  commentaries;  he  was  the  president  of 
the  Committee  on  Biblical  Revision,  and  he  crossed 
the  ocean  fourteen  times  as  a  fraternal  internuncio 
between  the  churches  of  Europe  and  America.  His 
prodigious  capacity  for  work  made  Dr.  Samuel 
Johnson  seem  an  idler,  and  his  varied  attainments 
and  activities  were  fairly  a  match  for  Gladstone. 

To  those  of  us  who  knew  Dr.  Schaff  intimately, 
one  of  his  most  attractive  traits  was  his  jovial  hu- 
mor and  inexhaustible  fund  of  anecdotes.  When  I 
made  a  visit  to  California — journeying  with  him  to 
the  Yosemite — his  endless  stories  whiled  away  the 
tedium  of  the  trip.  How  often  when  he  sat  down 
to  my  own,  or  any  other  table,  would  he  tell  how  his 
old  friend,  Neander,  when  asked  to  say  grace  at  a 
dinner,  and  roast  pig  was  the  chief  dish,  very 


SUMMERING  AT  SARATOGA  AND  MOHONK.    237 

quaintly  said :  "O,  Lord,  if  Thou  canst  bless  under 
the  new  dispensation  what  Thou  didst  curse  under 
the  old  dispensation,  then  graciously  bless  this  leetle 
pig.  Amen!" 

Another  eminent  scholar  who  was  wont  to  seek 
recreation  at  Mohonk  was  the  venerable  President 
McCosh,  of  Princeton  University.  Since  Scotland  sent 
to  Princeton  Dr.  John  Witherspoon  to  preside  over  it, 
and  to  be  one  of  the  signers  of  the  Declaration  of 
Independence,  she  has  sent  no  richer  gift  than  Dr. 
James  McCosh.  For  several  years  before  he  came 
to  America  he  was  a  professor  in  the  Queen's  Col- 
lege at  Belfast.  Passing  through  Belfast  in  1862,  I 
looked  in  for  a  few  moments  at  the  Irish  Presbyte- 
rian General  Assembly,  which  was  convened  in  Dr. 
Cook's  church,  and  said  to  a  man :  "Whom  can  you 
show  me  here  ?"  Pointing  to  a  tall,  somewhat  stoop- 
ing figure,  standing  near  the  pulpit,  he  said :  "There 
is  McCosh."  I  replied:  "It  is  worth  coming  here 
to  see  the  brightest  man  in  Ireland."  What  a  great, 
all-round,  fully  equipped,  many-sided  mass  of  splen- 
did manhood  he  was !  What  a  complete  combination 
of  philosopher,  theologian,  preacher,  scholar,  and 
college  president  all  rolled  into  one!  During  the 
twenty  years  of  his  brilliant  career  at  Princeton  he 
displayed  much  of  Jonathan  Edwards'  metaphysi- 
cal acumen,  of  John  Witherspoon's  wisdom,  Sam- 
uel Davies'  fervor  and  Dr.  "Johnny"  McLean's 


238        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

kindness  of  heart;  the  best  qualities  of  his  prede- 
cessors were  combined  in  him.  He  came  here  a 
Scotchman  at  the  age  of  fifty-seven,  and  in  a  year 
he  became,  as  Paddy  said,  "a  native  American." 

To  my  mind  the  chief  glory,  of  Dr.  McCosh's 
presidency  at  Princeton  was  the  fervid  interest  he 
felt  in  the  religious  welfare  of  his  students.  He 
often  invited  me  to  come  over  and  deliver  sermons 
to  them,  and  occasionally  a  temperance  address ;  for 
he  was  a  zealous  teetotaler  and  prohibitionist,  and 
I  always  lodged  with  him  at  his  house.  As  I  turn 
over  my  book  of  correspondence  I  find  many  brief 
letters  from  him.  In  the  following  one  he  refers 
to  the  remarkable  revival  in  the  college  in  the  winter 
and  early  spring  of  1870: 

COLLEGE  OF  NEW  JERSEY, 

PRINCETON,  Jan.  9,  1873. 
My  dear  Dr.  Cuyler: 

In  the  name  of  the  Philadelphian  Society,  and  in  my 
own  name,  I  request  you  to  conduct  our  service  on  the 
day  of  prayer  for  colleges,  being  Thursday  the  30th  of 
January.  It  is  three  years,  if  I  calculate  rightly,  since  you 
performed  that  duty  for  us.  That  visit  was  followed  by 
the  blessed  work  in  which  you  took  an  active  part.  May 
it  be  the  same  this  year !  The  college  is  in  an  interesting 
state:  we  have  a  great  deal  of  the  spirit  of  study;  there  is 
a  meeting  for  prayer  every  night  except  Friday;  the  class 
prayer  meetings  are  all  well  attended,  in  some  of  the  classes 
as  many  as  sixty  present ;  but  we  need  a  quickening.  I  do 
hope  you  will  come.  Our  habit  is  an  address  of  half  an 


SUMMERING  AT  SARATOGA  AND  MOHONK.     239 

hour  or  so  at  three  P.M.  in  the  college  chapel,  and  a  sermon 
in  one  of  the  churches,  especially  addressed  to  students,  but 
open  to  all  in  the  evening.  Of  course,  you  will  come  to  my 
house,  and  live  with  me.  Yours  as  ever, 

JAMES  McCosH. 

To  hundreds  of  the  alumni  of  Princeton  this  letter 
will  stir  the  fountain  of  old  memories.  They  will 
hear  in  it  the  ring  of  the  old  college  bell ;  they  will 
see  the  lines  of  students  marching  across  the  campus 
to  evening  prayer  and  into  the  chapel.  Upon  the 
platform  mounts  the  stooping  form  of  grand  old 
"Uncle  Jimmie,"  and  in  his  broad  and  not  unmelo- 
dious  Scotch  accents  he  pours  out  his  big,  warm 
heart  in  prayer.  With  honest  pride  in  their  Alma 
Mater,  they  will  thank  God  that  they  were  trained 
for  the  battle  of  life  by  James  McCosh. 

The  limits  of  this  narrative  do  not  allow  me  to 
tell  of  all  my  delightful  "foregather ings"  with  that 
venerated  Nestor  of  American  art,  Daniel  Hunt- 
ington ;  and  with  General  James  Grant  Wilson  with 
his  repertoire  of  racy  Scotch  stories;  and  with  my 
true  yoke- fellows  in  the  Gospel,  Dr.  Herrick  John- 
son, Dr.  Marvin  R.  Vincent,  and  Dr.  Samuel  J. 
Fisher — and  with  a  group  of  infinitely  witty  women 
who  regaled  many  an  evening  hour  with  their  merry 
quips  and  conundrums.  The  unwritten  law  which 
prevails  in  that  social  realm  is :  "Each  for  all,  and 
all  for  each  other." 


240        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

Mr.  Smiley  had  been  for  some  years  a  member 
of  the  United  States  Indian  Commission,  and  his 
experience  in  that  capacity  had  awakened  a  deep 
interest  in  the  welfare  of  the  remaining  Aborigines, 
who  had  too  often  been  the  prey  of  unscrupulous 
white  men  who  came  in  contact  with  them.  About 
nineteen  years  ago  he  conceived  the  happy  idea  of 
calling  a  conference  at  Mohonk  of  those  who  were 
conversant  with  Indian  affairs  and  most  desirous  to 
promote  their  well  being.  His  invitation  brought 
together  such  distinguished  philanthropists  as  the 
veteran  ex-Senator  Henry  L.  Dawes,  General  Clin- 
ton B.  Fisk,  General  Armstrong,  the  founder  of 
Hampton  Institute;  Merrill  E.  Gates,  Philip  C. 
Garrett,  Herbert  Welsh,  and  that  picturesque  and 
powerful  friend  of  the  red  man,  the  late  Bishop 
Whipple  of  Minnesota.  The  discussions  and  deci- 
sions of  this  annual  Mohonk  Conference  have  had 
immense  influence  in  shaping  the  legislation  and 
controlling  the  conduct  of  our  national  government 
in  all  Indian  affairs.  It  has  helped  to  make 
history. 

The  great  success  of  this  conference,  which  meets 
in  October  of  each  year,  led  my  Quaker  friend, 
Smiley,  eight  years  ago,  to  inaugurate  an  "Arbitra- 
tion conference"  for  the  promotion  of  international 
peace.  It  was  a  happy  thought  and  has  yielded  a 
rich  fruitage.  About  the  first  of  every  June  this 


SUMMERING  AT  SARATOGA  AND  MOHONK.     241 

conference  brings  together  such  men  and  women 
of  "light  and  leading"  from  all  parts  of  our  coun- 
try as  ex-Senator  George  F.  Edmunds  of  Vermont, 
the  Rev.  Edward  Everett  Hale  of  Boston,  the  Hon. 
William  J.  Coombs,  the  Hon.  Robert  Treat  Paine, 
Dr.  B.  F.  Trueblood,  John  B.  Garrett  and  Joshua 
L.  Bailey,  Colonel  George  E.  Waring,  Hon.  John 
W.  Foster,  Chief  Justice  Nott,  Warner  Van  Nor- 
den,  and  a  great  number  of  well  known  clergymen 
and  editors  have  read  able  papers  or  delivered  in- 
structive addresses  on  that  ever  burning  problem  of 
how  to  turn  swords  into  plowshares,  and  spears  into 
pruning  hooks. 

I  especially  sympathize  with  the  spirit  of  this  Ar- 
bitration conference,  not  only  because  I  abominate 
war  per  se,  but  because  I  firmly  believe  that  among 
the  grievous  perils  that  confront  our  nation  is  the 
mania  for  enormous  and  costly  military  and  naval 
armament — and  also  the  policy  of  extending  our 
territory  by  foreign  conquests.  The  high  mission 
of  our  Republic  is  to  maintain  the  fundamental  prin- 
ciples initiated  in  our  Declaration  of  Independence 
— that  all  true  government  rests  on  the  consent  of 
the  governed.  It  is  an  impious  profanation  of  our 
flag  of  freedom  to  make  it  the  symbol  of  absolutism 
on  any  soil.  In  the  conflict  now  waging  for  true 
American  principles,  I  heartily  concur  in  the  views 
of  the  late  Benjamin  Harrison,  who  was  one  of  the 


242        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

most  clear-sighted  and  patriotic  of  our  Presidents. 
Just  before  his  death  I  addressed  to  that  noble 
Christian  statesman  a  letter  of  heartfelt  thanks  for 
the  position  he  was  taking.  With  the  following 
gratifying  reply  which  I  received,  I  conclude  my 
chapter  on  peace-loving  "Smiley-land" : 

INDIANAPOLIS,  Dec.  26,  1900. 
My  dear  Dr.  Cuyler: 

I  can  hardly  tell  you  how  grateful  your  letter  was  to  me, 
or  how  highly  I  value  your  approval.  My  soul  has  been 
in  revolt  against  the  doctrine  of  Congressional  Absolutism. 
I  want  to  save  my  veneration  for  the  men  who  made  us  a 
nation,  and  organized  the  nation  under  the  Constitution. 
This  will  be  impossible  if  I  am  to  believe  that  they  organ- 
ized a  government  to  exercise  from  their  place  that  ab- 
solutism which  they  rejected  for  themselves.  The  news- 
paper reports  of  my  Ann  Arbor  address  were  most  horribly 
mangled,  but  the  address  will  appear  in  the  January  num- 
ber of  the  North  American  Review.  Allow  me,  my  dear 
friend,  to  extend  to  you  the  heartiest  thanks,  not  only  for 
your  kind  words,  but  for  the  noble  life  which  gives  them 
value. 

With  all  good  wishes  of  the  Christmastide, 

Most  sincerely  your  friend, 
BENJAMIN  HARRISON. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A    RETROSPECT. 

WHEN  I  entered  upon  the  Christian  ministry 
fifty-six  years  ago,  there  was  no  probability  that  I 
would  live  to  see  four-score.  My  father  had  died  at 
the  early  age  of  twenty-eight,  and  several  of  his 
brothers  and  sisters  had  succumbed  to  pulmonary 
maladies.  My  mother  was  dangerously  ill  several 
times,  but  had  a  wiry  constitution  and  lived  to 
eighty-five.  That  my  own  busy  life  has  held  out  so 
long  is  owing,  under  a  kind  Providence,  to  the  care- 
ful observation  of  the  primal  laws  of  health.  I  have 
eschewed  all  indigestible  food,  stimulants,  and  in- 
toxicants;— have  taken  a  fair  amount  of  exercise; 
have  avoided  too  hard  study  or  sermon  making  in 
the  evenings — and  thus  secured  sound  and  sufficient 
sleep.  In  keeping  God's  commandments  written 
upon  the  body  I  have  found  great  reward.  From 
the  standpoint  of  four-score  I  propose  in  this  chap- 
ter to  take  a  retrospect  of  some  of  the  moral  and 
religious  movements  that  have  occurred  within  my 
memory — in  several  of  which  I  have  taken  part — 
and  I  shall  note  also  the  changes  for  better  or  worse 
243 


244        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

that  I  have  observed.  If  as  an  optimist  I  may  some- 
times exaggerate  the  good,  and  minimize  the  evil 
things,  it  is  the  curse  of  a  pessimist  that  he  can 
travel  from  Dan  to  Beersheba  and  find  nothing  but 
barrenness. 

The  first  change  for  the  better  that  I  shall  speak 
of  is  the  progress  I  have  seen  in  church  fellowship. 
The  division  of  the  Christian  church  into  denomi- 
nations is  a  fixed  fact  and  likely  to  remain  so  for  a 
long  time  to  come.  Nor  is  it  the  serious  evil  that 
many  imagine.  The  efficiency  of  an  army  is  not  im- 
paired by  division  into  corps,  brigades  and  regi- 
ments, as  long  as  they  are  united  against  the  com- 
mon enemy ;  neither  does  the  Church  of  Christ  lose 
its  efficiency  by  being  organized  on  denominational 
lines,  as  long  as  it  is  loyal  to  its  Divine  head,  and 
united  in  its  efforts  to  overcome  evil,  and  establish 
the  Kingdom  of  Heaven.  Some  Christians  work 
all  the  better  in  harness  that  suits  their  peculiar 
tastes  and  preferences.  Denominationalism  be- 
comes an  evil  the  moment  it  degenerates  into  bitter 
and  bigoted  sectarianism.  Conflicts  between  a  dozen 
regiments  is  suicide  to  an  army.  When  a  dozen 
denominations  strive  to  maintain  their  own  feeble 
churches  in  a  community  that  requires  only  three 
or  four  churches,  then  sectarianism  becomes  an  un- 
speakable nuisance. 

I  could  cite  many  instances  to  prove  the  great 


A  RETROSPECT.  245 

progress  that  has  been  made  in  church  fellowship. 
For  example,  my  early  ministry  was  in  a  town  in 
which  the  Society  of  Friends  had  a  large  meeting 
house,  well  filled  by  a  most  intelligent,  orthodox 
and  devout  congregation.  But  its  members  never 
entered  any  other  house  of  worship.  I  had  the 
warmest  personal  intimacy  with  some  of  its  leading 
men,  but  they  would  say:  "We  would  like  to  hear 
thee  preach  on  First  Day,  but  the  rules  of  our  so- 
ciety forbid  it."  I  have  lived  to  see  the  day  when 
I  am  invited  to  speak  in  Friends'  meetings,  and  I 
have  rejoiced  to  invite  Quaker  brothers,  and  sisters 
also,  to  speak  in  my  pulpit.  When  I  visit  London, 
the  most  eminent  living  Quaker,  J.  Bevan  Braith- 
waite,  welcomes  me  to  his  hospitable  house,  and  we 
join  in  prayer  together.  I  wish  that  the  exemplary 
and  useful  Society  of  Friends  were  more  multiplied 
on  both  sides  of  the  sea. 

During  the  early  half  of  the  last  century  sec- 
tarian controversies  ran  high,  especially  in  the 
newly  settled  West.  It  was  a  common  custom  to 
hold  public  discussions  in  school  houses  and  frontier 
meeting  houses,  where  controverted  topics  between 
denominations  were  presented  by  chosen  champions 
before  applauding  audiences.  Ministers  fired  hot 
shot  at  one  another's  pulpits;  churches  were  often 
as  militant  as  mendicant,  and  all  those  polemics  were 
excused  as  contending  most  earnestly  for  the  faith. 


246        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

Both  sides  found  their  ammunition  in  the  same 
Bible.  When  I  was  a  student  in  the  Princeton  Sem- 
inary, a  classmate  from  Kentucky  gave  me  a  little 
hymn-book  used  at  the  camp  meetings  in  the  fron- 
tier settlements  of  his  native  region.  In  that  book 
was  a  hymn,  one  verse  of  which  contains  these 
sweet  and  irenic  lines: 

"When   I   was  blind,   and  could  not  see, 
The  Calvinists  deceived  me." 

Just  imagine  the  incense  of  devout  praise  ascend- 
ing heavenward  in  such  a  thick  smoke  of  sectarian 
contentions !  All  the  denominations  were  more  or 
less  afflicted  with  this  controversal  malady;  and  I 
will  venture  to  say  that  in  Kentucky  and  Ohio  and 
other  new  regions,  the  Presbyterians  were  often  a 
fair  match  for  their  Methodist  neighbors  in  these 
theological  pugilistics.  I  might  multiply  illustra- 
tions of  these  unhappy  clashings  and  controversies 
that  have  often  disfigured  even  the  most  evangelical 
branches  of  Christendom.  What  a  blessed  change 
for  the  better  have  I  witnessed  in  my  old  days! 
Among  the  foremost  efforts  of  denominational  fel- 
lowship was  the  organization  of  the  American  Bible 
Society,  the  American  Tract  Society,  and  the  Amer- 
ican Sunday  School  Union.  Later  on  in  the  same 
century  came  those  two  splendid  spiritual  inven- 
tions— The  Young  Men's  Christian  Association,  and 
the  Society  of  Christian  Endeavor.  Sir  George 


A  RETROSPECT.  247 

Williams,  the  founder  of  the  one,  and  Dr.  Francis  E. 
Clark,  the  father  of  the  other,  should  be  commem- 
orated in  a  pair  of  twin  statues  of  purest  marble, 
standing  with  locked  arms  and  upholding  a  standard 
bearing  the  sacred  motto :  "One  is  our  Master,  even 
Christ  Jesus,  and  all  ye  are  brethren."  To  no  man 
are  we  indebted  more  deeply  than  to  the  now  glori- 
fied Mr.  Moody  who  made  Christian  fellowship  the 
indispensable  feature  of  all  his  evangelistic  endeav- 
ors— with  Brother  Sankey  leading  the  grand  chorus 
of  united  praise.  Union  meetings  for  the  conversion 
of  souls  and  seeking  the  descent  of  the  Holy  Spirit 
are  now  as  common  as  the  observance  of  Christmas 
or  of  Easter  Day.  Personally  I  rejoice  to  say  that 
I  have  been  permitted  to  preach  the  Gospel  in  the 
pulpits  of  all  the  leading  denominations,  not  except- 
ing the  Episcopalian ;  and  I  once  welcomed  the  no- 
ble and  beloved  Bishop  Charles  P.  Mcllvaine  of 
Ohio  to  my  Lafayette  Avenue  Church  pulpit,  where 
he  pronounced  a  grand  discourse  on  "The  Unity 
of  All  Christians  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ."  If  I 
lived  in  England  I  should  be  heart  and  soul  a  non- 
conformist. But  I  can  gratefully  acknowledge  the 
many  kind  courtesies  which  I  have  received  from 
the  clergy  of  the  Established  Church.  Once,  when 
in  London,  I  was  invited  to  the  annual  dinner  given 
by  the  Lord  Mayor  to  the  archbishops  and  bishops, 
and  I  found  myself  the  only  American  clergyman 


248        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

present.  The  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  when 
Bishop  of  London,  did  me  the  honor  of  presiding 
at  a  reception  given  me  at  Exeter  Hall,  and  when- 
ever I  have  met  the  venerable  Dr.  Temple  I  have 
been  cheered  by  his  warm-hearted  and  "democratic" 
cordiality  of  manner.  In  return  for  the  kindness 
shown  me  by  my  brilliant  and  scholarly  friend, 
Archdeacon  Farrar,  I  was  happy  to  preside  at  a  re- 
ception given  him  in  Chickering  Hall.  He  had  a 
wide  welcome  in  our  land,  but  it  was  as  the  untir- 
ing champion  of  temperance  reform  that  he  was 
especially  honored  on  that  evening.  He  and  Arch- 
deacon Basil  Wilberforce  are  among  the  leaders  in 
the  crusade  against  the  curse  of  strong  drink.  Amid 
some  evil  portents  and  perils  to  the  cause  of  evan- 
gelical religion,  one  of  the  richest  tokens  for  good 
is  this  steady  increase  of  interdenominational  fel- 
lowship. For  organic  unity  we  need  not  yet  strive ; 
it  is  enough  that  all  the  regiments  and  brigades  in 
Christ's  covenant  hosts  march  to  the  same  music, 
fight  together  under  the  same  standard  of  Calvary's 
Cross,  and  press  on,  side  by  side,  and  shoulder  to 
shoulder,  to  the  final  victory  of  righteousness  and 
truth  and  human  redemption. 

Another  change  for  the  better  has  been  the  en- 
largement of  woman's  sphere  of  activity  in  the  pro- 
motion of  Christianity  and  of  moral  reform.  As 
an  illustration  of  this  fact,  I  may  cite  a  rather  unique 


A  RETROSPECT.  249 

incident  in  my  own  experience.  During  the  winter 
of  1872  I  invited  Miss  Sarah  F.  Smiley,  an  eminent 
and  most  evangelical  minister  in  the  Society  of 
Friends  (and  a  sister  of  the  Messrs.  Albert  and 
Daniel  Smiley,  the  proprietors  of  the  Lake  Mohonk 
House)  to  deliver  a  religious  address  in  my  pulpit. 
The  discourse  she  delivered  was  strong  in  intellect, 
orthodox  in  doctrine  and  fervently  spiritual  in  char- 
acter; the  large  audience  was  both  delighted  and 
edified.  A  neighboring  minister  presented  a  com- 
plaint before  the  Presbytery  of  Brooklyn,  alleging 
that  my  proceeding  had  been  both  un-Presbyterian 
and  un- Scriptural.  The  complainant  was  not  able 
to  produce  a  syllable  of  law  from  our  form  of  gov- 
ernment forbidding  what  I  had  done.  Long  years 
before,  a  General  Assembly  had  recommended  that 
"women  should  not  be  permitted  to  address  a  pro- 
miscuous assemblage"  in  any  of  our  churches;  but 
a  mere  "deliverance"  of  a  General  Assembly  has  no 
binding  legal  authority. 

In  my  defense  I  was  careful  not  to  advocate  the 
ordination  of  women  to  the  ministry  in  the  Pres- 
byterian Church,  or  their  installation  in  the  pasto- 
rate. I  contended  that  as  our  confession  of  faith 
was  silent  on  the  subject,  and  that  as  godly  women  in 
the  early  church  were  active  in  the  promotion  of 
Christianity  (one  of  them  named  Anna  having  pub- 
licly proclaimed  the  coming  Messiah),  and  that  as 


850         RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

the  ministry  of  my  excellent  friend,  the  Quakeress, 
had  for  many  years  been  attended  by  the  abundant 
blessings  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  my  act  was  rather  to 
be  commended  than  condemned.  The  discussion  be- 
fore the  Presbytery  lasted  for  two  days  and  pro- 
duced a  wide  and  rather  sensational  interest  over 
the  country.  The  final  vote  of  the  Presbytery, 
while  withholding  any  censure  of  my  course  under 
the  circumstances,  was  adverse  to  the  practice  of 
permitting  women  to  address  "promiscuous  audi- 
ences" in  our  churches.  Two  or  three  years  after- 
wards, a  case  similar  to  mine  was  appealed  to  the 
General  Assembly  and  that  body  wisely  decided  that 
such  questions  should  be  left  to  the  judgment  and 
conscience  of  the  pastors  and  church  sessions.  When 
the  news  of  this  action  of  the  assembly  reached  us, 
the  old  sexton  of  the  Lafayette  Avenue  Church 
hoisted  (to  the  great  amusement  of  our  people)  the 
stars  and  stripes  on  the  church  tower  as  a  token  of 
victory.  It  has  now  become  quite  customary  to  in- 
vite female  missionaries,  and  other  godly  women, 
to  address  audiences  composed  of  both  sexes  in  our 
churches ;  the  padlock  has  been  taken  off  the  tongue 
of  any  consecrated  Christian  woman  who  has  a  mes- 
sage from  the  Master.  I  invited  Miss  Willard  and 
Lady  Henry  Somerset  to  advocate  the  Christian 
grace  of  temperance  from  my  pulpit ;  and  if  I  were 
still  a  pastor  I  should  rejoice  to  invite  that  good  an- 


A  RETROSPECT.  251 

gel  of  beneficence,  Miss  Helen  M.  Gould,  to  deliver 
there  such  an  address  as  she  lately  made  in  the 
splendid  building  she  has  erected  for  the  "Naval 
Christian  Association." 

Foreign  missions  were  in  their  early  and  vigorous 
growth  eighty  years  ago.  I  rode  in  our  family  car- 
riage to  church  with  Sheldon  Dibble  and  Reuben 
Tinker,  who  were  just  leaving  Auburn  Theological 
Seminary  to  go  out  as  our  pioneer  missionaries  to 
the  Sandwich  Islands.  The  Missionary  Herald  was 
taken  in  a  great  number  of  families  and  read  with 
great  avidity.  Many  of  the  readers  were  people 
who  not  only  devoutly  prayed  "Thy  Kingdom  come," 
but  who  were  willing  to  stick  to  a  rag  carpet,  and 
deny  themselves  a  "Brussels,"  in  order  to  contribute 
more  to  the  spread  of  that  Kingdom.  Wealth  has 
increased  to  a  prodigious  and  perilous  extent;  but 
the  percentage  of  money  given  to  foreign  missions 
is  very  far  from  what  it  was  in  the  day  of  my  child- 
hood. It  is  a  growing  custom  for  ministers  to  utter 
a  prayer  over  the  contribution  boxes  when  they  are 
brought  back  to  the  platform  before  the  pulpit;  I 
suspect  that  it  in  too  many  cases  should  be  one  of 
penitential  confession. 

While  I  was  a  student  in  the  Princeton  Seminary 
we  had  a  visit  from  the  veteran  missionary,  Levi 
Spalding,  who  sailed  from  Boston  to  Southern  In- 
dia in  the  very  first  band  which  invaded  the  dark- 


252        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

ness  of  Hindooism.  He  was  as  nearly  like  my  con- 
ception of  the  Apostle  Paul  as  anyone  I  ever  beheld. 
He  told  us  that  when  he  was  a  youth  and  his  heart 
was  first  drawn  to  the  cause  of  missions,  he  told  his 
good  mother  that  he  had  decided  upon  a  missionary 
life  (which  was  then  thought  equivalent  to  a  mar- 
tyrdom), and  she  was  perfectly  overcome.  He  said 
to  her :  "Mother,  when  you  gave  me  as  an  infant  to 
God  in  baptism,  did  you  withhold  me  from  any 
service  to  which  I  might  be  called  ?"  She  assented 
in  a  moment — went  to  the  old  chest — from  it  she 
took  a  half-dollar  (all  the  money  she  possessed  in 
the  world),  and,  handing  it  to  him,  said:  "Levi, 
you  may  go,  and  this  starts  you  on  your  education." 
On  his  way  over  to  India  his  preaching  converted 
all  the  sailors,  including  the  ship's  carpenter,  "whose 
heart  was  as  hard  as  his  broadaxe."  That  was  the 
stuff  our  first  missionaries  were  made  of.  The 
tears  flowed  down  our  cheeks  as  we  listened  to 
Spalding's  recital,  and  the  result  of  his  visit  was 
that  more  than  one  of  our  students  volunteered  for 
the  work  of  foreign  missions. 

It  was  also  my  great  privilege  during  that 
Princeton  course  to  put  eye  upon  a  man  who,  by 
common  consent,  is  regarded  as  the  king  of  Ameri- 
can missionaries.  On  my  way  from  Princeton  to 
Philadelphia  in  the  Christmas  week  of  '45  I  found 
among  my  fellow  passengers  a  gentleman  with  a 


A  RETROSPECT.  253 

very  benign  countenance,  and  to  my  great  delight  I 
learned  that  he  was  Adoniram  Judson,  who  was  on 
his  final  and  memorable  visit  to  his  native  land,  and 
was  received  everywhere  with  the  most  unbounded 
and  reverent  enthusiasm.  He  had  begun  his  work 
in  Burmah  in  1813,  but  under  great  difficulties. 
During  the  first  six  years  he  made  no  converts; 
he  defied  the  demon  of  discouragement  and  labored 
on  with  increased  faith  and  zeal,  and  then  came  an 
abundant  harvest.  The  colossal  work  of  his  life  in 
Burmah  was  the  translation  of  the  Holy  Scriptures 
into  the  Burmese  language.  To  this  work,  which  is 
likely  to  endure,  he  added  a  Burmese-English  dic- 
tionary. At  length  the  toils  and  exposures  broke 
down  his  health  and  he  was  obliged  to  take  several 
voyages  in  adjoining  waters.  Soon  after  I  saw  him 
he  married  Miss  Chubbuck  and  returned  to  Burmah 
in  the  following  year.  The  old  conflict  between  the 
holy  and  heroic  heart  and  failing  body  was  soon 
renewed.  He  resorted  once  more  to  the  sea  for  re- 
lief, but  died  during  the  passage,  on  April  12,  1850. 
When  crossing  the  Atlantic  in  the  summer  of  1885 
I  spent  much  of  the  time  with  that  noble  minister, 
Rev.  Edward  Judson,  of  New  York.  A  funeral  at 
sea  occurred,  and  as  the  remains  were  disappearing 
in  the  water  Mr.  Judson  said  to  me,  with  solemn 
tenderness :  "Just  so  my  beloved  father  was  com- 
mitted to  the  deep :  his  sepulchre  is  this  great,  wide 


254        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

ocean."  That  ocean  is  a  type  of  his  world- wide  in- 
fluence. Not  only  in  the  priority  of  time  as  a  fear- 
less pioneer  into  unknown  dangers,  but  in  profound 
and  patient  scholarship,  and  in  the  beauty  of  a  holy 
and  lovable  personality,  Adoniram  Judson  still 
hold  the  primacy  among  our  American  missionary 
heroes. 

The  progress  which  has  been  made  in  Christianiz- 
ing heathendom  during  the  last  century  (which 
may  well  be  called  the  century  of  foreign  missions) 
is  familiar  to  every  person  of  intelligence.  The 
number  of  converts  to  Christianity  is  at  least  two 
millions,  and  several  millions  more  have  felt  the  in- 
fluence of  Christian  civilization.  The  great  mass 
have  not  been  suddenly  revolutionized,  as  in 
Luther's  time,  but  one  by  one  individual  hearts 
yield  to  the  gospel  in  nearly  every  land.  As  a  seri- 
ous offset  to  these  glorious  results  the  commerce  of 
nominally  Christian  nations  is  often  poisonous. 
Britain  carries  opium  into  China  and  India;  Amer- 
ica and  other  civilized  nations  carry  rum  into  Africa. 
The  word  of  life  goes  in  the  cabin,  and  the  worm  of 
death  goes  in  the  hold  of  the  same  vessel !  The  sail- 
ors that  have  gone  from  nominally  Christian  coun- 
tries to  various  ports  have  often  been  very  far  from 
acting  as  gospel  missionaries.  It  is  not  only  for 
their  own  welfare,  but  that  they  may  become  rep- 
resentatives of  Christianity  that  the  noble  "Ameri- 


A  RETROSPECT.  255 

can  Seamen's  Friend  Society"  has  been  organized. 
The  work  which  that  society  has  wrought  under  the 
vigorous  leadership  of  Dr.  Stitt  entitles  it  to  the 
generous  support  of  all  our  churches.  If  toiling 
"Jack"  braves  the  tempest  to  bring  us  wealth  from 
all  climes,  we  owe  it  to  him  to  provide  him  the  an- 
chor of  the  gospel,  and  to  save  him  from  spiritual 
shipwreck. 

To  no  other  benevolent  society  have  I  more  cheer- 
fully given  service  of  tongue  and  pen  than  to  this 
one.  An  honest  view  of  the  foreign  mission  enter- 
prises to-day  reveals  the  laying  of  broad  foundations, 
and  the  building  of  solid  walls,  rather  than  any  com- 
pleted achievements  already  wrought.  Blood  tells, 
and  God  has  entrusted  his  gospel  to  the  Anglo-Sax- 
ons and  the  other  most  powerful  races  on  the  globe. 
The  religion  of  the  Bible  is  the  only  religion  adapted 
to  universal  humanity,  and  in  the  Bible  is  a  definite 
pledge  that  to  all  humanity  that  religion  shall  yet 
be  preached. 

Among  the  great  spiritual  agencies  born 
within  my  memory,  none  deserves  a  higher 
place  than  The  Young  Men's  Christian  Association. 
When  my  beloved  brother,  Sir  George  Williams 
(now  an  octogenarian)  started  the  first  association 
in  London  on  the  6th  of  June,  1844,  he  "builded  bet- 
ter than  he  knew."  The  modest  room  in  his  store 
overlooking  Paternoster  Row  in  which  he  gath- 


256        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

ered  the  little  praying  band  on  that  day  is  already 
an  historic  spot.  My  own  connection  with  the 
Young  Men's  Christian  Association  began  in  New 
York  when  I  joined  the  association  there  in  the  sec- 
ond year  of  its  existence,  1854.  We  met  in  a  room 
in  Stuyvesant  Institute  and  the  heroic  Howard 
Crosby  was  our  president.  We  had  no  library,  or 
reading  room,  or  gymnasium,  or  any  of  the  appli- 
ances that  belong  to  the  institutions  of  these  days. 
After  several  migrations,  our  association  found  its 
permanent  home  in  the  spacious  building  on  Twenty- 
third  Street,  to  which  Morris  K.  Jesup  and  Wil- 
liam E.  Dodge  were  among  the  foremost  contrib- 
utors. The  master  spirit  in  the  operations  of  the  New 
York  Association  for  thirty  years  was  Mr.  Robert 
McBurney,  who,  when  he  landed  from  Ireland,  was 
only  seventeen  years  of  age.  He  was  among  my 
evening  congregation  in  the  old  Market  Street 
Church.  During  my  seven  years'  pastorate  in  that 
church  I  delivered  a  great  many  discourses  and 
platform  addresses  on  behalf  of  the  association,  and 
through  all  of  the  subsequent  years  it  has  been  a 
favorite  object  on  which  to  bestow  my  humble  ef- 
forts. Here  in  Brooklyn  a  host  of  young  men  have 
found  a  moral  shelter,  and  many  of  them  a  spiritual 
birth-place,  in  the  fine  structure,  reared  largely  from 
the  munificent  bequests  of  that  princely  Christian 
philanthropist,  the  late  Mr.  Frederick  Marquand. 


A  RETROSPECT.  257 

It  is  not  permitted  to  every  good  man  or  woman 
before  they  die  to  see  the  glorious  fruits  of  the  trees 
they  planted,  but  to  the  eyes  of  the  veteran  George 
Williams  the  following  facts  must  seem  like  a  re- 
hearsal of  heaven.  The  Young  Men's  Christian  As- 
sociation now  belts  the  globe  with  half  a  million  of 
members,  and  ten  times  that  number  in  some  direct 
connection  with  the  organization.  It  is  housed  in 
hundreds  of  solid  structures  which  have  cost  be- 
tween thirty  and  forty  million  dollars — each  one 
a  cheerful  home — a  place  for  physical  development, 
manly  instruction  and  training  for  Christ's  service. 

It  has  brought  thousands  of  young  men  from  im- 
penitence to  Christ  Jesus,  and  made  thousands  of 
young  Christians  more  like  Jesus  in  their  daily  life. 
The  most  effective  lay  preacher  of  the  century,  D.  L. 
Moody,  confessed  that  in  his  training  for  spiritual 
work  he  owed  more  to  the  Young  Men's  Christian 
Association  than  to  any  other  human  agency.  It  has 
molded  the  students  of  colleges  and  universities ;  it 
has  been  the  salvation  of  many  a  soldier  and  sailor ; 
it  has  led  many  into  the  gospel  ministry;  it  has 
taught  the  whole  world  the  beauty  and  power  of  a 
living  unity  in  Jesus  Christ.  The  Holy  Spirit  has 
set  the  Divine  seal  of  His  blessing  on  its  world-wide 
work,  and  to  the  triune  God  be  all  the  praise  and  all 
the  glory. 

As  I  witnessed  the  birth  of    the    Young    Men's 


258        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

Christian  Association,  I  also  saw  the  birth  of  a  kin- 
dred organization,  the  "Society  of  Christian  En- 
deavor." Many  years  ago  an  absurd  and  extrav- 
agant statement  was  widely  afloat,  claiming  that  I 
was  the  "grandsire"  of  this  society.  The  simple 
truth  was  that  Dr.  Francis  E.  Clark,  its  heaven- 
directed  founder,  had  seen  in  some  religious  jour- 
nals my  account  of  the  good  work  wrought  by  the 
Young  People's  Association  of  the  Lafayette  Ave- 
nue Church,  and  he  recognized  the  fact  that  its  chief 
purpose  was  not  mere  sociality  or  literary  advance- 
ment, but  the  spiritual  profit  of  its  members.  He 
examined  its  constitution  and  reports,  and  when  he 
constructed  his  first  Christian  Endeavor  Society  in 
the  Williston  Church  of  Portland,  Maine,  he  adopt- 
ed many  of  its  features;  and  my  beloved  brother 
Clark,  in  his  public  addresses,  has  generously  ac- 
knowledged such  obligation  as  he  was  under  to  our 
Young  People's  Association  (now  in  its  thirty-fifth 
year  of  prosperous  activity).  It  has  always  been  a 
source  of  grateful  pride  that  it  should  have  fur- 
nished any  aid  to  the  origination  of  one  of  the  fore- 
most spiritual  instrumentalities  of  the  century.  As 
any  attempt  to  describe  the  sublime  grandeur  of 
Niagara  would  be  a  waste  of  time,  so  it  would  be 
equally  futile  for  me  to  describe  the  magnificent  ex- 
tent of  the  Christian  Endeavor  Society's  operations 
and  the  immense  spiritual  results  that  have  flowed 


A  RETROSPECT.  259 

from  them.  There  is  no  civilized  speech  or  lan- 
guage where  its  voice  is  not  heard ;  its  line  has  gone 
out  to  all  the  earth,  and  its  words  to  the  ends  of  the 
world.  It  has  done  more  than  any  other  single 
agency  to  develop  the  life  and  to  train  for  service 
the  energies  of  the  youthful  members  of  the 
churches.  It  has  yet  still  wider  possibilities  before 
it,  and  when  the  hand  that  planted  this  mighty  tree 
has  turned  to  dust  its  boughs  will  be  shedding  down 
the  fruits  of  the  Spirit  on  the  dwellers  in  every 
clime. 

One  of  the  most  striking  improvements  that  I 
have  witnessed  has  been  in  the  sanitary  condition, 
both  physical  and  moral,  of  our  great  cities.  The 
conditions  in  New  York,  when  I  came  to  the  pas- 
torate of  the  Market  Street  Church  almost  fifty 
years  ago,  would  seem  incredible  to  the  New  York- 
ers of  to-day.  The  disgusting  depravities  of  the 
Fourth  Ward,  afterwards  made  familiar  by  the  re- 
formatory efforts  of  Jerry  McCauley,  were  then  in 
full  blast,  defying  all  police  authority  and  outrag- 
ing common  decency.  The  most  hideous  sink  of  in- 
iquity and  loathsome  degradation  was  in  the  once 
famous  "Five  Points,"  in  the  heart  of  the  Sixth 
Ward  and  within  a  pistol  shot  of  Broadway.  At  the 
time  of  my  coming  to  New  York  public  attention 
had  been  drawn  to  that  quarter  with  the  opening  of 
the  "Old  Brewery  Mission,"  and  by  the  first  plant- 


260        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

ing  of  a  kindred  enterprise  which  grew  into  the  now 
well-known  "Five  Points  House  of  Industry."  The 
brave  projector  of  this  enterprise  was  the  Rev.  L. 
M.  Pease,  a  hero  whose  name  ought  not  to  be  for- 
gotten. As  my  church  was  just  off  East  Broadway, 
and  within  a  short  walk  of  the  Five  Points,  I  took  a 
deep  interest  in  Mr.  Pease's  Christian  undertaking, 
and  aided  him  by  every  means  in  my  power.  His 
wife  became  a  member  of  my  church.  The  "Wild 
Maggie,"  whose  escapades  described  in  the  Tribune 
gained  such  public  notoriety,  became  also,  after  her 
reformation,  one  of  our  church  members  and  after- 
wards held  the  position  of  a  school  teacher.  After 
the  resignation  of  Mr.  Pease  and  his  removal  to 
North  Carolina,  his  place  was  taken  by  one  of  our 
Market  Street  elders,  the  devout  and  godly  minded 
Benjamin  R.  Barlow.  In  order  to  keep  awake  pub- 
lic interest  in  the  mission  work  at  the  Five  Points, 
and  to  get  ammunition,  in  its  behalf,  I  used  to  make 
nocturnal  explorations  of  some  of  those  satanic 
quarters.  I  recall  now  one  of  those  midnight  forays 
of  which,  at  the  risk  of  my  reader's  olfactories,  I 
will  give  a  brief  glimpse.  In  company  with  the  su- 
perintendent of  the  mission  and  a  policeman  and  a 
lad  with  a  lantern  I  struck  for  the  "Cow  Bay,"  the 
classic  spot  of  which  Charles  Dickens  had  given 
such  a  piquant  description  in  his  "American  Notes" 
a  few  years  before.  Climbing  a  stairway,  from 


A  RETROSPECT.  261 

which  the  banisters  had  long  been  broken  away  for 
firewood,  we  entered  a  dark  room.  There  was  only 
a  tallow  candle  burning  in  the  corner,  and  in  the 
room  were  huddled  twenty-five  human  beings. 
Along  the  walls  were  ranged  the  bunks — one  above 
the  other — covered  with  rotting  quilts  and  unwashed 
coverings.  Each  of  these  rented  for  sixpence  a 
night  to  any  thief  or  beggar  who  chose  to  apply  for 
lodging — no  distinction  being  made  for  sex  or  color. 
As  the  lad  swings  the  lantern  about  we  spy  the  rows 
of  heads  projecting  from  under  the  stacks  of  rags. 
In  one  bed  a  gray-haired,  disheveled  head  cuddled 
close  to  the  yellow  locks  of  a  slumbering  child. 
While  we  are  reconnoitering,  something  like  a 
huge  dog  runs  past  and  dives  under  the  bed.  "What 
is  this,  good  friend  ?"  we  ask.  "Oh,  only  the  goat," 
replied  a  merry  Milesian.  "Do  the  goats  live  with 
you  all  in  this  room  ?"  "To  be  sure  they  do,  sir ;  we 
feeds  'em  tater  skins,  and  milks  'em  for  the  babies." 
Country  born  as  we  were,  we  have  often  longed 
to  keep  a  dairy  in  this  city,  but  it  never  occurred 
to  us  that  a  bedroom  was  sufficient  for  the  purpose. 
Truly,  necessity  is  the  shrewd-witted  mother  of  in- 
vention! Opposite  "Cow  Bay"  was  "Cut-Throat 
Alley."  Two  murders  a  year  were  about  the  average 
product  of  the  civilization  of  this  dark  defile.  The 
keeper  of  the  famous  grog  shop  there,  who  died 
about  that  time,  left  a  fortune  of  nearly  one  hun- 


262        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

dred  thousand  dollars.  In  city  politics  the  keeper  of 
such  a  den  is  one  of  the  leaders  of  public  opin- 
ion. We  climbed  a  stairway,  dark  and  dangerous, 
till  at  length  we  reached  the  wretched  garret 
through  whose  open  chinks  the  snow  drifted  in 
upon  the  floor.  Beside  the  single  broken  stove,  the 
only  article  of  furniture  in  the  apartments,  sat  a 
wretched  woman  wrapped  in  a  tattered  shawl  moan- 
ing over  a  terrible  burn  that  covered  her  arms ;  she 
had  fallen  when  intoxicated  upon  the  stove  and  no 
one  had  cared  enough  to  carry  her  to  the  hospital. 
She  exclaimed,  "For  God's  sake,  gentlemen,  can't 
you  give  me  a  glass  of  gin  ?"  A  half  eaten  crust  lay 
by  her  and  a  cold  potato  or  two,  but  the  irresistible 
thirst  clamored  for  relief  before  either  pain  or  hun- 
ger. "Good  woman,"  said  my  friend,  "where's 
Mose?"  "Here  he  is."  A  heap  of  rags  beside  her 
was  uncovered,  and  there  lay  the  sleeping  face  of  an 
old  negro,  apparently  of  fifty.  In  nearly  every  gar- 
ret we  entered  practical  amalgamation  was  in  fash- 
ion. The  superintendent  told  me  that  the  negroes 
were  fifty  per  cent,  in  advance  of  the  Irish  as  to  so- 
briety and  decency.  Descending  from  the  garret  we 
entered  a  crowded  cellar.  The  boy's  lantern  shone 
on  the  police  officer's  cap  and  buttons.  A  crash  was 
heard,  and  the  window  at  the  opposite  end  of  the 
cellar  was  shattered  and  a  mass  of  riddled  glass  fell 
on  the  floor.  "Poor  fool!"  exclaimed  the  police- 


A  RETROSPECT.  263 

man,  "he  thinks  we  are  after  him,  but  I  will  have 
him  before  morning."  From  these  sickening  scenes 
of  squalor,  misery  and  crime  what  a  relief  it  was 
for  us  to  return  to  the  House  of  Industry,  with  its 
neat  school  room  and  its  capacious  chapel  and  its 
row  of  little  children  marching  up  to  their  little 
beds.  It  was  like  going  into  the  light-house  after 
the  storm. 

I  have  drawn  this  pen  picture  of  but  a  part  of 
the  shocking  revelations  of  that  night,  not  only  that 
my  readers  may  know  what  kind  of  work  I  often 
engaged  in  during  my  New  York  pastorate,  but 
that  they  may  also  know  what  kind  of  city  I  labored 
in.  New  York  is  not  to-day  in  sight  of  the  millen- 
nium ;  it  still  has  a  fearful  amount  of  vice  and  heath- 
enism; and  the  self-denying  men  who  are  conduct- 
ing the  "University  Settlement,"  and  the  Christ- 
serving  "King's  Daughters,"  who  are  giving  their 
lives  to  the  salvation  of  the  poor  in  the  Seventh 
Ward  are  doing  as  apostolic  a  work  as  any  mission- 
ary on  the  Congo.  Nevertheless  it  is  true  that  a 
"Cow  Bay,"  or  an  "Old  Brewery,"  or  a  "Cut-Throat 
Alley"  is  no  more  possible  to-day  in  New  York  than 
the  building  of  a  powder  factory  in  the  middle  of 
Central  Park.  The  progress  Jn  sanitary  purification 
has  been  most  remarkable. 

This  narrative  of  the  sanitary  and  moral  reform 
wrought  in  the  Five  Points  reminds  me  of  another 


264        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

good  man  whom  the  people  of  this  city  and  our 
whole  country  cannot  revere  too  highly  as  a  public 
benefactor.  I  allude  to  Mr.  Anthony  Comstock,  the 
indefatigable  Secretary  of  the  "Society  for  the  Pre- 
vention of  Vice."  I  knew  him  well  when  he  was  a 
clerk  in  a  dry  goods  store  on  Broadway,  and  when 
he  undertook  his  first  purifying  efforts,  I  little  sup- 
posed that  he  was  to  achieve  such  reforms.  It  was 
an  Augean  stable  indeed  that  he  set  about  cleans- 
ing. Fifty  years  ago  our  city  was  flooded  by  ob- 
scene literature  which  sought  no  concealment.  The 
vilest  books  and  pictures  were  openly  sold  in  the 
streets,  and  an  enormous  traffic  was  waged  in  what 
may  be  called  the  literature  of  hell.  Such  a  cour- 
ageous crusade  against  those  abominations  and 
against  the  gambling  dens,  by  Mr.  Comstock — even 
at  the  risk  of  personal  violence  and  in  defiance  of 
the  most  malignant  opposition — entitles  him  to  a 
place  among  our  veritable  heroes.  At  a  time  when 
deeds  of  military  prowess  receive  such  adulation, 
and  when  the  "man  on  horseback"  outstrips  the  man 
on  foot  in  the  race  for  popular  favor,  it  is  well 
to  teach  our  young  men  that  he  who  takes  up 
arms  against  the  principalities  and  powers  of 
darkness,  and  makes  his  own  life  the  savior  of 
other  lives,  wins  a  knightly  crown  of  heavenly 
honor  that  outshines  the  stars,  and  "fadeth  not 
away." 


A  RETROSPECT.  265 

The  most  unique  organization  that  has  been 
formed  in  our  time  for  the  evangelizing  of  the 
lost  masses  is  the  "Salvation  Army."  When  I  was 
in  London,  in  the  summer  of  1885,  I  attended  one 
of  their  monster  meetings  in  Exeter  Hall.  There 
was  an  enormous  military  band  on  the  platform  be- 
hind the  rostrum.  Their  Commander-in-Chief,  Gen- 
eral Booth,  presided — a  tall,  thin,  nervous  man,  who 
looked  more  like  an  old-fashioned  Kentucky  reviv- 
alist than  an  Englishman.  His  bright-eyed  and 
comely  wife,  Mrs.  Catharine  Booth,  was  with  him. 
She  was  a  woman  of  remarkable  intellectual  force 
and  spiritual  character,  as  all  must  acknowledge 
who  have  read  her  biography.  Her  speech  (on  the 
Protection  of  Young  Girls)  was  finely  composed 
and  finely  delivered,  and  quite  threw  into  the  shade 
a  couple  of  members  of  Parliament  who  spoke  from 
the  same  platform  on  the  same  evening.  When  she 
made  any  telling  point  that  awakened  applause,  her 
husband  leaped  up,  and  gave  the  signal:  "Fire  a 
volley!"  Whereupon  his  troops  gave  a  tremendous 
cheer,  followed  by  a  roll  of  drums  and  a  blast  of 
trumpets.  The  chief  agency  which  the  army  em- 
ploys to  gather  its  audiences  is  music — whether  it 
be  the  rattling  of  the  tambourine,  or  the  martial 
sound  of  a  brass  band.  Some  of  their  hymns  are  lit- 
tle better  than  pious  doggerel,  and  they  do  not  hes- 
itate to  add  to  Perronet's  grand  hymn,  "All  hail  the 


266        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

power  of  Jesus  name,"  such  a  stanza  as  the  follow- 
ing: 

"Let  our  soldiers  never  tire, 

In  streets,  in  lane,  in  hall, 
The  red-hot  Gospel's  shot  to  fire 

And  crown  Him  Lord  of  All." 

Grotesque  as  are  some  of  the  methods  of  this 
novel  organization,  I  cannot  but  admire  their  zeal 
and  courage  in  dredging  among  the  submerged 
masses  with  such  spiritual  apparatus  as  they  can 
devise.  They  are  doing  a  work  that  God  has  hon- 
ored, and  that  has  reached  and  rescued  a  vast  num- 
ber of  outcasts.  Their  chief  weakness  is  that  they 
appeal  mainly  to  the  emotions,  and  give  too  little 
solid  instruction  to  their  ignorant  hearers.  Their 
chief  danger  is  that  when  the  strong  arm  of  their 
founder  is  taken  away  he  may  not  leave  successors 
who  can  hold  the  army  together.  Let  us  hope  and 
pray  that  the  period  of  their  usefulness  may  yet 
be  protracted. 

While  an  abnormal  agency,  like  the  Salvation 
Army,  may  do  some  useful  service  among  the  occu- 
pants of  the  slums,  the  greater  work  of  reaching  and 
evangelizing  the  immense  mass  of  plain,  humble 
working  people  must  be  done  by  the  churches  them- 
selves. What  do  the  dwellers  in  the  by-streets  and 
the  tenement  houses  need  ?  They  need  precisely  what 


A  RETROSPECT.  267 

the  dwellers  in  the  brown  stone  houses  on  fine  ave- 
nues need — a  sanctuary  to  worship  in,  a  Sunday 
school  for  their  children,  a  preacher  to  give  them 
the  Gospel,  and  a  pastor  to  visit  them  and  watch 
over  them — in  short,  a  spiritual  home.  As  for 
bringing  the  poorer  class  of  the  back  streets  into 
the  elegant  churches  on  the  fashionable  avenues  it 
is  an  absurdity;  both  geography  and  human  nature 
are  against  it.  The  plainly  dressed  laborers  of  the 
back  districts  could  not  come  to  the  fine  churches 
on  Fifth  Avenue,  or  similar  streets,  because  these 
edifices  are  already  occupied  by  their  regular  pew 
holders;  they  would  not  come,  for  they  would  not 
feel  at  home  there.  Since  the  humbler  toiling 
classes  will  not  come  to  the  sanctuaries  occupied  by 
the  rich,  the  only  true  Christian  policy  is  for  the 
rich  churches  to  build  and  maintain  plenty  of  at- 
tractive auxiliary  chapels  in  the  regions  occupied 
by  those  humbler  classes.  Not  mean  and  unattract- 
ive soup-house  style  of  chapels  should  they  be, 
either — they  ought  to  be  handsome,  cheerful,  well- 
appointed  sanctuaries,  manned  by  godly  pastors 
who  are  not  above  the  business  of  saving  souls  that 
are  clad  in  dirty  shirts.  And  that  is  not  all :  the 
members  of  the  wealthy  churches  which  rear  the 
auxiliary  chapels  should  personally  go  and  attend 
the  services  and  Sunday  schools  and  weekly  meet- 
ings in  the  chapel — not  go  in  costly  raiment  that 


268        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

touches  the  pride  of  God's  poor,  but  in  plain  clothes 
and  with  a  hearty  democratic  sympathy  in  their 
whole  bearing.  To  reach  the  masses  we  must  go 
after  them — and  then  stay  with  them  when  we  get 
there.  If  broadcloth  religion  waits  for  poverty  and 
ignorance  to  cross  the  chasm  to  it,  then  may  they 
at  last  come  to  be  a  menace  to  the  safety  of  society — 
with  imprecations  on  it  for  criminal  neglect.  Chris- 
tianity must  build  the  bridge  across  the  chasm,  and 
then  keep  its  steady  procession  crossing  over  it  with 
bright  lamps  for  dark  homes,  and  Bibles  for  darker 
souls,  and  bread  for  hungry  mouths,  and,  what  is 
best  of  all,  personal  intercourse  and  personal  sym- 
pathy. The  music  of  a  Christmas  carol  would  be 
very  sweet  in  poverty's  garret;  the  advent  of  the 
living  Jesus  in  the  persons  of  His  true-hearted  fol- 
lowers would  be  a  "Merry  Christmas"  all  the  year 
round. 

Brooklyn  is  not  a  city  of  slums,  nor  does  it  abound 
with  the  sky-scraping  tenement  houses,  like  those 
in  which  the  myriads  of  New  York  live;  but  we 
have  a  large  population  of  wage-earners  of  the  hum- 
bler class.  These  mainly  occupy  streets  by  them- 
selves. In  order  to  do  our  part  in  giving  the  bread 
of  life  to  these  worthy  people,  Lafayette  Avenue 
Church  has  always  maintained  two,  and  sometimes 
three,  auxiliary  chapels.  Of  these,  the  "Cuyler 
Chapel,"  built  and  supported  entirely  by  our  Young 


A  RETROSPECT.  269 

People's  Association,  is  a  fair  representative.  It 
has  an  excellent  preacher,  who  visits  the  plain  peo- 
ple in  their  homes;  it  has  a  well-equipped  Sunday 
school — prayer  meetings,  kindergarten — its  own  So- 
ciety of  Christian  Endeavor,  and  King's  Daughters, 
its  penny  savings  bank  and  its  temperance  society — 
in  short,  every  appliance  essential  to  a  Christian 
church.  Many  others  of  our  strong  Brooklyn 
churches  are  working  precisely  on  the  same  prac- 
tical, common-sense  lines.  If  all  the  wealthy 
churches  in  New  York  would  illuminate  the  darker 
quarters  of  that  city  with  a  hundred  well-manned 
light-houses,  well  provided  with  the  soul-saving 
apparatus  of  the  poor  man's  Gospel  they  would  do 
more  to  silence  the  cavils  against  Christianity,  and 
more  to  bridge  the  chasm  between  the  rich  and  the 
poor  than  by  any  of  the  superficial  methods  of  the 
"Humanitarians."  What  a  poor  man  wants  is  not 
only  a  clean  shirt,  a  clean  home,  and  a  clean  account 
on  Saturday  night;  he  wants  a  clean  character  and 
a  clean  soul  for  this  world  and  the  next.  Christianity 
makes  a  sad  mistake  if  it  is  satisfied  to  give  him  a 
full  stomach,  and  leave  him  with  a  starving  soul. 

In  recent  years  we  have  heard  much  about  the 
"Institutional  Church"  as  the  long  sought  panacea. 
It  is  claimed  by  some  persons  that  the  churches  can- 
not succeed  unless  they  add  to  ordinary  spiritual 
instrumentalities,  various  useful  annexes,  such  as 


270        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

reading  rooms,  kindergartens,  dispensaries,  and 
certain  social  entertainments.  But  it  is  a  note- 
worthy fact  that  the  chief  pioneer  in  "Institutional" 
methods  was  the  late  Charles  Haddon  Spurgeon, 
and  he  was  the  prince  of  old-fashioned  gospel 
preachers.  He  never  thought  of  his  orphanage,  and 
other  benevolent  adjuncts  of  the  Metropolitan  Tab- 
ernacle as  substitutes  for  the  sovereign  purpose  of 
his  holy  work,  which  was  to  convert  the  people  to 
Jesus  Christ.  He  subordinated  the  physical,  the  men- 
tal, and  the  social  to  the  spiritual ;  and  rightly  judged 
that  making  clean  hearts  was  the  best  way  to  secure 
clean  homes  and  clean  lives.  I  have  no  doubt  that 
a  very  strong,  well-manned  and  thoroughly  spirit- 
ually managed  church  may  wisely  maintain  as  many 
adjuncts,  such  as  reading-rooms,  libraries,  dispen- 
saries, kindergartens  and  other  humanitarian  annexes 
as  it  has  the  means  to  support.  An  illustration  of  this 
is  seen  in  the  successful  and  Heaven-blessed  Bethany 
Presbyterian  Church  of  Philadelphia,  founded  and 
maintained  and  guided  by  that  hundred-handed 
Briareus  in  the  service  of  Christ — my  beloved 
friend,  the  Hon.  John  Wanamaker.  The  aim  of  that 
great  church  and  its  well-known  Sunday  School,  is 
to  make  people  happy  by  making  them  better,  and 
to  save  them  for  this  world  after  saving  them  for 
another  world.  When  a  church  has  the  spiritual 
purposes  and  spiritual  power  of  the  London  Tab- 


A  RETROSPECT.  271 

ernacle  and  the  Bethany  Church,  and  is  guided  by 
a  Spurgeon  or  a  Wanamaker,  it  may  safely  become 
"institutional."  But  some  experiments  that  have 
been  made  to  establish  churches  of  that  name  in  this 
country  have  not  always  been  conspicuously  suc- 
cessful. 

In  taking  this,  my  retrospective  view  at  four- 
score, I  have  noted  many  heart-cheering  tokens  of 
social  and  religious  progress,  and  many  splendid 
mechanical  and  material  inventions  to  make  the 
world  better  and  happier.  Yet  I  have  also  seen 
some  painful  symptoms  of  decline  and  deterioration. 
All  the  changes  have  not  been  for  the  better ;  some 
have  been  decidedly  for  the  worse.  For  example, 
while  there  is  an  increase  in  the  number  of  the  Chris- 
tian churches,  there  is  a  lamentably  steady  diminution 
of  attendance  at  places  of  religious  worship.  Care- 
ful investigation  shows  a  constant  falling  off  in 
church  attendance — both  in  the  large  towns,  and 
in  the  rural  districts.  In  spite  of  the  blessed  influ- 
ence of  the  Sunday  School,  the  Young  Men's  Chris- 
tian Association  and  Christian  Endeavor,  there  is 
an  increasing  swing  of  young  people  away  from  the 
House  of  God,  and  therefore  from  soul-saving  in- 
fluences. The  Sabbath  is  not  as  generally  kept 
sacred  as  formerly.  One  of  the  indications  of  this 
sad  fact  is  a  decrease  in  church  attendance,  and  an- 
other is  the  enormous  increase  in  the  secular  and 


272        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

godless  Sunday  newspapers.  Materialism  and 
Mammonism  work  against  spiritual  religion,  and 
the  social  customs  which  wealth  brings  are  ad- 
verse to  a  spiritual  life.  As  one  illustration  of  this 
a  distinguished  pastor  said  to  me:  "Forty  years 
ago  my  people  lived  plainly,  were  ready  for  earnest 
Christian  work,  and  attended  our  devotional  meet- 
ings; now  they  have  grown  rich,  our  work  flags, 
and  our  weekly  services  are  almost  deserted." 
Half-day  religion  is  on  the  increase  almost  every- 
where. Sporting  and  gambling  are  more  rife  than 
formerly.  What  is  still  worse,  the  gambling  ele- 
ment enters  more  largely  into  transactions  of  trade 
and  traffic.  Divorces  have  become  more  easy  and 
abundant,  and,  as  Mr.  Gladstone  once  said  to  me: 
"This  tends  to  sap  one  of  the  very  foundations  of 
society."  All  these  are  deplorable  evils  to  which 
none  but  a  fool  will  shut  his  eyes  and  by  which 
none  but  a  coward  will  be  frightened.  God  reigns, 
even  if  the  devil  is  trying  to.  The  practical  ques- 
tions for  every  one  of  us  are :  how  can  I  become 
better?  How  can  I  help  to  make  this  old  sinning 
and  sobbing  world  the  better  also? 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A  RETROSPECT,  CONTINUED. 

As  I  look  over  the  changes  that  half  a  century 
has  wrought  in  the  social  life  of  my  beloved  coun- 
try, I  see  some  which  awaken  satisfaction — others 
which  are  not  so  exhilarating.  The  enormous  and 
rapid  increase  of  wealth  is  unparalleled  in  human 
history.  In  my  boyhood,  millionaires  were  rare; 
there  were  hardly  a  score  of  them  in  any  one  of  our 
cities.  The  two  typical  rich  men  were  Stephen 
Girard  in  Philadelphia  and  John  Jacob  Astor  in 
New  York;  and  their  whole  fortunes  were  not 
equal  to  the  annual  income  of  several  of  the  rich 
men  of  to-day.  Some  of  our  present  millionaires 
are  reservoirs  of  munificence,  and  the  outflow  builds 
churches,  hospitals,  asylums,  and  endows  li- 
braries— and  sends  broad  streams  of  charity 
through  places  parched  by  destitution  and  suffering. 
Others  are  like  pools  at  the  base  of  a  hill — they  re- 
ceive the  inflow  of  every  descending  streamlet  or 
shower,  and  stagnate  into  selfishness.  Wealth  is  a 
tremendous  trust ;  it  becomes  a  dangerous  one  when 
273 


274        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

it  owns  its  owner.  Our  Brooklyn  philanthropist, 
the  late  Mr.  Charles  Pratt,  once  said  to  me :  "There 
is  no  greater  humbug  than  the  idea  that  the  mere 
possession  of  wealth  makes  any  man  happy.  I  never 
got  any  happiness  out  of  mine  until  I  began  to  do 
good  with  it." 

To  the  faithful  steward  there  is  a  perpetual  re- 
ward of  good  stewardship.  No  investments  yield 
a  more  covetable  dividend  than  those  made  in  gifts 
of  public  beneficence-  When  Mr.  Morris  K.  Jesup 
drives  through  New  York  his  eyes  are  gladdened 
in  one  street  by  the  "Dewitt  Memorial  Chapel"  that 
he  erected ;  in  another  by  the  Five  Points  House  of 
Industry,  of  which  he  is  the  president,  and  in  still 
others  by  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association 
and  kindred  institutions,  of  which  he  is  a  liberal 
supporter. 

Mr.  John  D.  Rockefeller  is  reputed  to  have  an  an- 
nual income  equal  to  that  of  three  or  four  foreign 
sovereigns ;  but  his  inalienable  assets  are  in  the  uni- 
versities he  has  endowed,  the  churches  he  has 
helped  to  build,  the  useful  societies  he  has  aided, 
and  in  the  gold  mines  of  public  gratitude  which  he 
has  opened  up. 

Many  of  our  most  munificent  millionaires  have 
been  the  architects  of  their  own  fortunes.  It  is 
most  commonly  (with  some  happy  exceptions)  the 
earned  wealth,  and  not  the  inherited  wealth  that  is 


A  RETROSPECT.  275 

bestowed  most  freely  for  the  public  benefit.  The 
Hon.  William  E.  Dodge  once  stated  in  a  popular 
lecture  that  he  began  his  career  as  a  boy  on  a  sal- 
ary of  fifty  dollars  a  year,  and  his  board — part  of 
his  duty  being  to  sweep  out  the  store  in  which  he 
was  employed.  He  lived  to  distribute  a  thousand 
dollars  a  day  to  Christian  missions,  and  otherwise 
objects  of  benevolence. 

There  are  old  men  in  Pittsburg  (or  were,  not 
long  ago),  who  remember  the  bright  Scotch  lad, 
Andrew  Carnegie,  to  whom  they  used  to  give  a  dime 
for  bringing  telegraph  messages  from  the  office  in 
which  he  was  employed.  The  benefits  which  he 
then  derived  from  the  use  of  a  free  library  in  that 
city,  have  added  to  his  good  impulse,  to  create  such 
a  vast  number  of  libraries  in  many  lands  that  his 
honored  name  throws  into  the  shade  the  names  of 
Bodley  and  Radcliffe  in  England,  and  that  of  Astor 
in  America.  The  mention  of  this  latter  name  tempts 
me  to  narrate  an  amusing  story  of  old  John  Jacob 
Astor,  the  founder  of  the  fortune  of  that  family,  and 
a  man  who  was  more  noted  for  acquiring  money 
than  for  giving  it  away  for  any  purpose.  Mr.  Astor 
came  to  New  York  a  poor  young  man.  His  wealth 
consisted  mainly  in  real  estate,  which  he  purchased 
at  an  early  day.  When  the  New  York  and  Erie 
Railroad  was  projected  (it  was  the  first  one  ever 
coming  directly  into  New  York),  my  friend,  Judge 


276        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

Joseph  Hoxie,  called  on  Mr.  Astor  to  subscribe  to 
the  stock,  telling  him  that  it  would  add  to  the  value 
of  his  real  estate.  "What  do  I  care  for  that?"  said 
the  shrewd  old  German,  "I  never  sells,  I  only  buys." 
"Well,"  said  Judge  Hoxie,  "your  son,  William,  has 
subscribed  for  several  shares."  "He  can  do  that," 
was  the  chuckling  reply,  "he  has  got  a  rich  father." 
It  is  a  fair  problem  how  many  such  possessors  of 
real  estate  it  would  take  to  build  up  the  prosperity 
of  a  great  city. 

There  is  one  temptation  to  which  great  wealth 
has  sometimes  subjected  its  possessors,  which  de- 
mands from  me  a  word  of  patriotic  protest.  It  is 
the  temptation  to  use  it  for  political  advancement. 
No  fact  is  more  patent  than  the  painful  one  that 
some  ambitious  men  have  secured  public  offices,  and 
even  bought  their  way  into  legislative  bodies,  by  the 
abundancies  of  their  purses  united  to  skill  in  man- 
ipulating partisan  machines.  This  is  a  most  serious 
menace  to  honest  popular  government.  It  is  one  of 
the  very  worst  forms  of  a  plutocracy.  I  often  think 
that  if  Webster  and  Clay  and  Calhoun  and  John 
Quincy  Adams  and  Sumner  and  some  other  giants 
of  a  former  era  could  enter  the  Congressional  halls 
of  our  day,  they  might  paraphrase  the  words  of 
Holy  Writ  and  exclaim :  "Take  the  money-changers 
hence,  and  make  not  the  temple  of  a  nation's  leg- 
islation a  house  of  merchandise." 


A  RETROSPECT.  377 

Foreign  travel  is  no  longer  the  novelty  that  it 
was  once,  and  many  wealthy  folk  spend  much  of 
their  time  abroad  since  the  Atlantic  Ocean  has  been 
reduced  to  a  ferry.  This  growth  of  European  travel 
has  brought  its  increment  of  information  and  cul- 
ture; but,  with  new  ideas  from  abroad,  have  come 
also  some  new  notions  and  usages  that  were  better 
left  behind.  A  prohibitory  tariff  in  that  direction 
would  "protect"  some  of  the  unostentatiousness  of 
social  life  that  befits  a  republican  people.  No  young 
man  or  woman,  who  desires  to  attain  proficience 
in  any  department  of  scholarship,  classical  or  scien- 
tific, need  to  betake  themselves  to  the  universities 
of  Europe.  Those  universities  have  come  to  us  in 
the  shape  of  Harvard,  Yale,  Princeton,  Cornell  and 
our  other  most  richly  endowed  institutions  of  learn- 
ing for  both  sexes. 

Quite  too  much  of  the  social  life  of  our  country 
is  more  artificial  than  formerly,  and  one  result  is 
the  growing  passion  for  publicity.  Plenty  of  am- 
bitious people  "make  their  beds  in  the  face  of  the 
sun."  Many  things  are  now  chronicled  in  the  press 
that  were  formerly  kept  behind  the  closed  doors 
of  the  home.  The  details  of  a  dinner  or  a  social 
company  at  the  fireside  become  the  topics  for  the 
gossip  of  strangers.  I  sometimes  think  that  the 
young  people  of  the  present  day  lose  much  of  the 
romance  that  used  to  belong  to  the  halcyon  period 


278        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

of  courtship.  In  the  somewhat  primitive  days  of 
my  youth,  young  lovers  kept  their  own  secrets,  and 
were  startled  if  their  heart  affairs  were  on  other 
people's  tongues ;  but  now-a-days  marriage  engage- 
ments are  matters  of  public  announcement — not  in- 
frequently in  the  columns  of  a  newspaper !  It  seems 
to  be  forgotten  that  an  engagement  to  marry  may 
not  always  end  in  a  marriage.  The  usage  of 
crowned  heads  abroad  is  no  warrant  for  the  new 
fashion,  for  royalty  has  no  privacies,  and  queens 
and  empresses  choose  their  own  husbands — a  pre- 
rogative that  the  stoutest  champion  of  woman's 
rights  has  not  yet  had  the  hardihood  to  advocate. 

It  has  always  required — but  never  more  than  now 
— no  small  amount  of  moral  courage  on  the  part  of 
newly  married  couples,  whose  incomes  are  moder- 
ate, to  resist  the  temptations  of  extravagant  living. 
As  the  heads  of  young  men  are  often  turned  by  the 
reports  of  great  fortunes  suddenly  acquired,  so  the 
ambition  seizes  upon  many  a  young  wife  to  cut  a 
figure  in  "society."  Instead  of  "the  household — mo- 
tions light  and  free"  that  Wordsworth  describes,  the 
handmaid  of  fashion  leads  the  hollow  life  of  "keep- 
ing up  appearances."  If  nothing  worse  than  the 
slavery  of  debt  is  incurred,  home  life  becomes  a 
counterfeit  of  happiness ;  but  any  one  who  watches 
the  daily  papers  will  sometimes  see  obituaries  there 
more  saddening  than  those  which  appear  under  the 


A  RETROSPECT.  279 

head  of  "Deaths;"  it  is  the  list  of  detected  defaul- 
ters or  peculators  or  swindlers  of  some  descrip- 
tion— often  belonging  to  the  most  respectable  fam- 
ilies. While  the  ruin  of  those  evil-doers  is  some- 
times caused  by  club  life  or  dissipated  habits,  yet, 
in  a  large  number  of  cases,  the  temptation  to  fraud 
has  been  the  snare  of  extravagant  living. 

In  my  long  experience  as  a  city  pastor  I  have 
watched  the  careers  of  thousands  of  married  pairs. 
One  class  have  begun  modestly  in  an  unfashionable 
locality  with  plain  dress  and  frugal  expenditure.  They 
have  eaten  the  wholesome  bread  of  independence. 
I  wish  that  every  young  woman  would  display  the 
good  sense  of  a  friend  of  mine,  who  received  an  of- 
fer of  marriage  from  a  very  intelligent  and  very 
industrious,  but  poor  young  man  who  said  to  her: 
"I  hear  that  you  have  offers  of  marriage  from  young 
men  of  wealth;  all  that  I  can  offer  you  is  a  good 
name,  sincere  love  and  plain  lodgings  at  first  in  a 
boarding  house."  She  was  wise  enough  to  discover 
the  "jewel  in  the  leaden  casket"  and  accept  his 
hand.  He  became  a  prosperous  business  man  and 
an  officer  of  my  church.  As  for  the  other  class, 
who  begin  their  domestic  career  by  a  pitiable  craze 
to  "get  into  society"  and  to  keep  up  with  their  "set" 
in  the  vain  show,  is  their  fate  not  written  in 
the  chronicles  of  haggard  and  jaded  wives,  and 
of  husbands  drowned  in  debt  or  driven  perhaps 


28o        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

to  stock-gambling  or  some  other  refuge  of 
desperation  ? 

In  another  portion  of  this  autobiography  I  have 
uttered  a  prayer  for  the  revival  of  soul-kindling  elo- 
quence in  the  pulpit.  In  this  age  of  dizzy  ballooning 
in  finance  and  social  extravagance,  my  prayer  is : 
"Oh,  for  the  revival  of  old  fashioned,  sturdy, 
courageous  frugality  that  'hath  clean  hands  and 
a  clean  heart,  and  hath  not  lifted  up  its  soul  to 
vanity !' " 

"Do  you  not  discover  a  great  advance  in  educa- 
tional facilities  and  in  the  enlargement  of  means 
to  popular  knowledge?"  To  this  question  I  am 
happy  to  give  an  affirmative  reply.  Schools  and 
universities  are  more  richly  endowed  and  our  public 
schools  have  been  greatly  improved  in  many  direc- 
tions. Among  the  educated  classes,  reading  clubs 
and  societies  for  discussing  sociological  questions 
are  more  numerous,  and  so  are  free  lectures  among 
the  humbler  classes.  Books  have  been  multiplied — 
and  at  cheaper  prices — to  an  enormous  extent.  In 
my  childhood,  books  adapted  to  the  reach  of  children 
numbered  not  more  than  a  score  or  two;  now  they 
are  multiplied  to  a  degree  that  is  almost  bewilder- 
ing to  the  youthful  mind.  Newspapers  printed  for 
them,  such  as  the  Youth's  Companion  and  the  Na- 
tional Society's  Temperance  Banner,  were  then  ut- 
terly unknown.  The  sacred  writer  of  the  ecclesias- 


A  RETROSPECT.  281 

needs  not  to  tell  the  people  of  this  generation : 
"That  of  making  many  books  there  is  no  end." 

It  is  not,  however,  a  matter  for  congratulation 
that  so  large  a  portion  of  the  volumes  that  are  most 
read  are  works  of  fiction.  In  most  of  our  public 
libraries  the  novels  called  for  are  far  in  excess  of 
all  the  other  books.  Let  any  one  scrutinize  the  ad- 
vertising columns  of  literary  journals,  and  he  will 
see  that  the  only  startling  figures  are  those  which 
announce  the  enormous  sale  of  popular  works  of 
fiction.  I  am  not  uttering  a  tirade  against  any  book 
simply  because  it  is  fictitious.  Our  Divine  Master 
spoke  often  in  parables ;  Bunyan's  matchless  allego- 
ries have  guided  multitudes  of  pilgrims  towards  the 
Celestial  City.  Fiction  in  the  clean  hands  of  that 
king  of  romancers,  Sir  Walter  Scott,  threw  new 
light  on  the  history  and  scenes  of  the  past.  Such 
characters  as  "Jenme  Deans"  and  her  godly  father 
might  have  been  taken  from  John  Bunyan's  portrait 
gallery;  Lady  Di  Vernon  is  the  ideal  of  young 
womanhood.  Fiction  has  often  been  a  wholesome 
relief  to  a  good  man's  overworked  and  weary  brain. 
Many  of  the  recent  popular  novels  are  wholesome 
in  their  tone  and  the  historical  type  often  instruc- 
tive. The  chief  objection  to  the  best  of  them  is  that 
they  excite  a  distaste  in  the  minds  of  thousands  for 
any  other  reading.  Exclusive  reading  of  fiction  is 
to  any  one's  mind  just  what  highly  spiced  food  and 


282        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

alcoholic  stimulants  are  to  the  body.  The  increas- 
ing rage  for  novel  reading  betokens  both  a  famine 
in  the  intellect,  and  a  serious  peril  to  the  mental  and 
spiritual  life.  The  honest  truth  is  that  quite  too 
large  a  number  of  fictitious  works  are  subtle  poison. 
The  plots  of  some  of  the  most  popular  novels  turn 
on  the  sexual  relation  and  the  violation  in  some 
form  of  the  seventh  commandment.  They  kindle 
evil  passions;  they  varnish  and  veneer  vice;  they 
deride  connubial  purity;  they  uncover  what  ought 
to  be  hid,  and  paint  in  attractive  hues  what  never 
ought  to  be  seen  by  any  pure  eye  or  named  by  any 
modest  tongue.  Another  objection  to  many  of  the 
most  advertised  works  of  fiction  is  that  they  deal 
with  the  sacred  themes  of  religion  in  a  very  mis- 
chievous and  misleading  manner.  A  few  popular 
writers  of  fiction  present  evangelical  religion  in  its 
winning  features ;  they  preach  with  the  pen  the  same 
truths  that  they  preach  from  the  pulpit.  Two  of 
the  perils  that  threaten  American  youths  are  a  licen- 
tious stage  and  a  poisonous  literature.  A  highly 
intelligent  lady,  who  has  examined  many  of  the 
novels  printed  during  the  last  decade,  said  to  me : 
"The  main  purpose  of  many  of  these  books  is  to 
knock  away  the  underpinning  of  the  marriage  rela- 
tion or  of  the  Bible."  If  parents  give  house  room 
to  trashy  or  corrupt  books,  they  cannot  be  surprised 
if  their  children  give  heart-room  to  "the  world,  the 


A  RETROSPECT.  283 

flesh,  and  the  evil  one."  When  interesting  and 
profitable  books  are  so  abundant  and  so  cheap,  this 
increasing  rage  for  novels  is  to  me  one  of  the  sinis- 
ter signs  of  the  times. 

Within  the  last  two  or  three  decades  there  has 
been  a  most  marked  change  as  to  the  directions  in 
which  the  human  intellect  has  exerted  its  highest 
activities.  This  change  is  especially  marked  in  the 
literature  of  the  two  great  English-speaking  na- 
tions. For  example,  there  are  now  in  Great  Britain 
no  poets  who  are  the  peers  of  Wordsworth,  Tenny- 
son and  Browning; — no  brilliant  essayists  who  are 
the  peers  of  Carlyle  and  Macaulay,  and  no  novelists 
who  are  the  peers  of  Scott,  Dickens  and  Thackeray. 
In  the  United  States  we  have  no  poets  who  are  a 
match  for  Bryant,  Longfellow,  Whittier  and 
Holmes ;  and  no  essayists  who  are  a  match  for  Em- 
erson and  James  Russell  Lowell — no  jurists  who  are 
the  rivals  of  Marshall,  Kent  and  Story;  and  no 
living  historians  equal  Bancroft,  Prescott  and  Mot- 
ley. These  facts  do  not  necessarily  indicate  (as 
some  assert)  a  widespread  intellectual  famine.  The 
most  probable  explanation  of  the  fact  is  that  the 
mental  forces  in  our  day  exert  themselves  in  other 
directions.  This  is  an  age  of  scientific  research  and 
scientific  achievement.  It  is  an  age  of  material  ad- 
vancement, and  in  those  lines  in  which  the  human 
mind  can  "seek  out  many  inventions."  The  whole 


284        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

trend  of  human  thought  is  under  transformation. 
In  ancient  days  "a  man  was  famous  according  as 
he  had  lifted  up  axes  upon  thick  trees."  The  man 
is  famous  now  who  makes  some  useful  mechanical 
invention,  or  explores  some  unknown  territory,  or 
bridges  the  oceans  with  swift  steamers,  or  belts  the 
earth  with  new  railways,  or  organizes  powerful 
financial  combinations.  If  the  law  of  demand  and 
supply  is  as  applicable  to  mental  products  as  it  is 
to  the  imports  of  commerce,  then  we  may  readily 
understand  that  the  realm  of  the  ideal,  which  was 
ruled  by  the  Wordsworths,  Carlyles  and  Longfel- 
lows,  should  be  supplanted  by  a  realm  in  which  the 
master  minds  should  be  political  economists,  or  ex- 
plorers, or  railway  kings,  or  financial  magnates,  or 
empire-builders  of  some  description.  The  philosoph- 
ical and  poetical  yield  to  the  practical,  when  "cui 
bonof"  is  the  test  question  which  challenges  all 
comers.  This  change,  if  it  be  an  actual  one,  may 
bring  its  losses  as  well  as  its  gains.  We  are  thank- 
ful for  all  the  precious  boons  which  inventive  gen- 
ius has  brought  to  us — for  telegraphs,  and  tele- 
phones, and  photographic  arts,  for  steam  engines 
and  electric  motors,  for  power  presses  and  sewing  ma- 
chines, for  pain-killing  chloroform,  and  the  splendid 
achievements  of  skillful  surgery.  But  the  mind  has 
its  necessities  as  well  as  the  body ;  and  we  hope  and 
pray  that  the  human  intellect  may  never  be  so  busy 


A  RETROSPECT.  285 

in  materialistic  inventions  that  it  cannot  give  us  an 
"Ode  to  Duty,"  and  a  "Happy  Warrior,"  a  "Snow 
Bound,"  and  a  "Thanatopsis,"  an  "Evangeline"  and 
a  "Chambered  Nautilus,"  a  "Pippa  Passes"  or  a 
"Biglow  Papers,"  an  "In  Memoriam"  or  a  "Locks- 
ley  Hall." 

One  characteristic  of  the  present  time  is  the  rad- 
ical and  revolutionary  spirit  which  condemns  every- 
thing that  is  "old,"  especially  in  the  realm  of  re- 
ligion. It  arrogantly  claims  that  the  "advanced 
thought"  of  this  highly  cultured  age  has  broken  with 
the  traditional  beliefs  of  our  benighted  ancestors, 
and  that  modern  congregations  are  too  highly  en- 
lighted  to  accept  those  antiquated  theologies.  No 
pretentions  could  be  more  preposterous.  Methinks 
that  those  stalwart  farmers  of  New  England,  who 
on  a  wintry  Sabbath,  sat  and  eagerly  devoured  for 
an  hour  the  strong  meat  of  such  theological  giants 
as  Jonathan  Edwards,  and  Emmons  and  Bellamy  and 
Dwight,  would  laugh  to  scorn  the  ridiculous  as- 
sumption of  the  present  day  congregations,  many 
of  whom  have  fed  on  little  else  during  the  week  but 
novels  and  newspapers.  This  revolutionary  spirit 
is  expert  in  pulling  down;  it  is  a  sorry  bungler  at 
rebuilding.  Nothing  is  too  sacred  for  its  assaults. 
The  iconoclasts  who  belong  to  the  most  extreme 
and  destructive  school  of  "higher  criticism"  have 
reduced  a  large  portion  of  God's  revealed  word  ut- 


286        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

terly  to  tatters.  King  David  has  been  exiled  from 
the  Psalter ;  but  no  "sweet  singers"  have  yet  turned 
up  who  could  have  composed  those  matchless  min- 
strelsies. Paul  is  denied  the  authorship  of  the 
Epistle  to  the  Romans ;  but  the  mighty  mind  has  not 
been  discovered  which  produced  what  Coleridge 
called  the  "profoundest  book  in  existence."  The 
Scripture  miracles  are  discarded;  but  Christianity, 
which  is  the  greatest  miracle  of  all,  is  not  account- 
ed for.  The  "new  theology"  which  has  well  nigh 
banished  the  supernatural  from  the  Bible  pays  an 
homage  to  the  principle  of  "evolution,"  which  is 
due  only  to  the  Almighty  Creator  of  the  universe. 
Spurgeon  has  wittily  said  that  if  we  are  not  the 
product  of  God's  creating  hand,  but  are  only  the 
advanced  descendants  of  the  ape,  then  we  ought 
to  conduct  our  devotions  accordingly,  and  address 
our  daily  petitions  "not  to  our  Father  which  is  in 
Heaven,  but  to  our  father  which  is  up  a  tree." 

I  do  not  belong  to  that  class  which  is  irreverently 
styled  "old  fogies,"  for  I  hold  that  genuine  con- 
servatism consists  in  healthful  and  regular  prog- 
ress ;  and  it  has  been  my  privilege  to  take  an  active 
part  in  a  great  many  reformatory  movements;  yet 
I  am  more  warmly  hospitable  to  a  truth  which  has 
stood  the  test  of  time  and  of  trial.  There  are  many 
things  in  this  world  that  are  improved  by  age. 
Friendship  is  one  of  them,  and  I  have  found  that  it 


A  RETROSPECT.  287 

takes  a  great  many  new  friends  to  make  an  old  one. 
My  Bible  is  all  the  dearer  to  me,  not  only  because  it 
has  pillowed  the  dying  heads  of  my  father  and  my 
mother,  but  because  it  has  been  the  sure  guide  of  a 
hundred  generations  of  Christians  before  them. 
When  the  boastful  innovators  offer  me  a  new  system 
of  belief  (which  is  really  a  congeries  of  unbeliefs) 
I  say  to  them :  "the  old  is  better."  Twenty  centuries 
of  experience  shared  by  such  intellects  as  Augus- 
tine, Luther,  Pascal,  Calvin,  Newton,  Chalmers, 
Edwards,  Wesley  and  Spurgeon  are  not  to  be 
shaken  by  the  assaults  of  men,  who  often  contradict 
each  other  while  contradicting  God's  truth.  We 
have  tested  a  supernaturally  inspired  Bible  for  our- 
selves. As  my  eloquent  and  much  loved  friend,  Dr. 
McLaren,  of  Manchester  has  finely  said :  "We  de- 
cline to  dig  up  the  piles  of  the  bridge  that  carries 
us  over  the  abyss  because  some  voices  tell  us  that 
it  is  rotten.  It  is  perfectly  reasonable  to  answer, 
'We  have  tried  the  bridge  and  it  bears.'  Which, 
being  translated  into  less  simple  language,  is  just 
the  assertion  of  certitude,  built  on  facts  and  experi- 
ence, which  leaves  no  place  for  doubt.  All  the 
opposition  will  be  broken  into  spray  against  this 
rock-bulwark:  'Thy  words  were  found,  and  I  did 
eat  them,  and  they  are  the  joy  and  rejoicing  of  my 
heart/  " 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

MY  HOME  LIFE. 

ONE  of  the  richest  of  the  many  blessings  that  has 
crowned  my  long  life  has  been  a  happy  home.  It 
has  always  seemed  to  me  as  a  wonderful  triumph 
of  divine  grace  in  the  Apostle  Paul  that  he  should 
have  been  so  "content  in  whatsoever  state  he  was" 
when  he  was  a  homeless,  and,  I  fear,  also  a  wifeless 
man.  During  my  own  early  ministry  in  Burlington, 
N.  J.,  my  widowed  mother  and  myself  lodged  with 
worthy  Quakers,  and  realized  Charles  Lamb's  truth- 
ful description  of  that  quiet,  "naught-caballing 
community."  On  our  removal  to  Trenton,  when  I 
took  charge  of  the  newly  organized  Third  Presby- 
terian Church,  we  commenced  housekeeping  in  what 
had  once  been  the  residence  of  a  Governor,  a  chief- 
justice,  and  a  mayor  of  the  city;  but  was  a  very 
plain  and  modest  domicile  after  all.  My  new  church 
building  was  completed  in  November,  1850,  and 
opened  with  a  full  congregation,  and  I  was  soon 
in  the  full  swing  of  my  pastoral  duties.  As  I  have 

already  stated  in  the  opening  chapter  of  this  volume, 
288 


MY  HOME  LIFE.  289 

my  father  and  mother  first  saw  each  other  on  a 
Sabbath  day,  and  in  a  church.  It  was  my  happy  lot 
to  follow  their  example.  On  a  certain  Sabbath  in 
January,  1851,  a  group  of  young  ladies,  who  were 
the  guests  of  a  prominent  family  in  my  congrega- 
tion, were  seated  in  a  pew  immediately  before  the 
pulpit.  As  a  civility  to  that  family  we  called  on  the 
following  evening,  upon  their  guests.  One  of  the 
number  happened  to  be  a  young  lady  from  Ohio 
who  had  just  graduated  from  the  Granville  College, 
in  that  State,  and  had  come  East  to  visit  her  relatives 
in  Philadelphia.  The  young  lady  just  mentioned 
was  Miss  Annie  E.  Mathiot,  a  daughter  of  the  Hon. 
Joshua  Mathiot,  an  eminent  lawyer,  who  had  repre- 
sented his  district  in  Congress.  That  evening  has 
been  marked  with  a  very  white  stone  in  my  calen- 
dar ever  since.  It  was  but  a  brief  visit  of  a  fortnight 
that  the  fair  maiden  from  the  West  made  in  Tren- 
ton; but  when  she,  soon  afterwards  returned  to 
Ohio,  she  took  with  her  what  has  been  her  inalien- 
able possession  ever  since  and  will  be,  "Till  death  us 
do  part."  My  courtship  was  rather  "at  long  range ;" 
for  Newark,  Ohio,  was  several  hundred  miles  away, 
and  I  have  always  found  that  a  man  who  would 
build  up  a  strong  church  must  be  constantly  at  it, 
trowel  in  hand.  On  the  i/th  of  March,  1853,  the 
venerable  Dr.  Wylie  conducted  for  us  a  very  simple 
and  solemn  service  of  holy  wedlock,  closing  with  his 


*9£>        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

fatherly  benediction,  one  of  the  best  acts  of  his  long 
and  useful  life.  The  invalid  mother  of  my  bride 
(for  Colonel  Mathiot  had  died  four  years  previous- 
ly) was  present  at  our  nuptials,  and  for  the  last 
time  was  in  her  own  drawing-room.  Mrs.  Mathiot 
was  a  daughter  of  Mr.  Samuel  Culbertson,  a  lead- 
ing lawyer  of  Zanesville,  and  was  a  lady  of  rare  re- 
finement and  loveliness.  She  had  been  a  patient 
sufferer  from  a  painful  illness  of  several  months' 
duration,  and  peacefully  passed  away  to  her  rest  in 
September  of  that  year. 

Of  the  qualifications  and  duties  of  a  minister's 
wife,  enough  has  been  written  to  stock  a  small 
library.  My  own  very  positive  conviction  has 
always  been  that  her  vows  were  made  primarily,  not 
to  a  parish,  but  to  her  own  husband;  and  if  she 
makes  his  home  and  heart  happy ;  if  she  relieves  him 
of  needless  worldly  cares;  if  she  is  a  constant  in- 
spiration to  him  in  his  holy  work,  she  will  do  ten- 
fold more  for  the  church  than  if  she  were  the  man- 
ager and  mainspring  of  a  dozen  benevolent  societies. 
There  is  another  obligation  antecedent  to  all  acts  of 
Presbytery  or  installing  councils — the  sweet  obliga- 
tion of  motherhood.  The  woman  who  neglects  her 
nursery  or  hej*-housekeeping  duties,  and  her  own 
heart-life  for  any  outside  work  in  the  parish  does 
both  them  and  herself  serious  injury.  If  a  minister's 
wife  has  the  grace  of  a  kind  and  tactful  courtesy 


MY  HOME  LIFE.  391 

toward  all  classes,  she  may  contribute  mightily  to 
the  popular  influence  of  her  husband ;  and  if  she  is  a 
woman  of  culture  and  literary  taste,  she  can  be  of 
immense  service  to  him  in  the  preparation  of  his 
sermons.  The  best  critic  that  ministers  can  have  is 
one  who  has  a  right  to  criticize  and  to  "truth  it  in 
love."  Who  has  a  better  right  to  reprove,  exhort 
and  correct  with  all  long  suffering  than  the  woman 
who  has  given  us  her  heart  and  herself?  There  are  a 
hundred  matters  in  the  course  of  a  year  in  which  a 
sensible  woman's  instincts  are  wiser  than  those  of 
the  average  man.  There  is  many  a  minister  who 
would  have  been  spared  the  worst  blunders  of  his 
life,  if  he  had  only  consulted  and  obeyed  the  instinc- 
tive judgment  of  a  loving  and  sensible  wife.  If  we 
husbands  hold  the  reins,  it  is  the  province  of  a  wise 
and  devoted  wife  to  tell  us  where  to  drive. 

It  is  very  probable  that  my  readers  have  suspected 
that  this  portraiture  of  a  model  wife  for  a  minister 
was  drawn  from  actual  life;  and  they  are  right  in 
their  conjectures.  In  the  discourse  delivered  to  my 
flock  on  the  twenty-fifth  anniversary  of  my  pastorate 
was  the  following  passage,  to  whose  truth  the  added 
years  have  only  added  confirmation,  "There  is  still 
another  sweet  mercy  which  has  been  vouchsafed  to 
me  in  the  true  heart  that  has  never  faltered  and  the 
gentle  footstep  that  has  never  wearied  in  the  path- 
way of  life  for  two  and  thirty  years.  From  how 


292        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

many  mistakes  and  hasty  indiscretions  her  quick 
sagacity  has  kept  me,  you  can  never  know.  If  you 
have  any  tribute  of  thanks  for  any  good  which  I 
have  done  you,  do  not  offer  it  to  me;  go  carry  it 
down  to  yonder  home,  of  which  she  has  been  the 
light  and  the  joy,  and  lay  it  at  her  unselfish  feet" 
On  that  occasion  (for  the  only  time)  I  heard  a  mur- 
mur of  applause  run  through  my  congregation. 

About  the  time  of  our  marriage,  I  received  a  call 
from  the  Shawmut  Congregational  Church  of  Bos- 
ton, and  soon  afterwards  overtures  from  a  Presby- 
terian Church  in  Philadelphia,  and  from  the  First 
Presbyterian  Church  of  Chicago.  All  these  attract- 
ive offers  I  declined ;  but  within  a  few  months  I  ac- 
cepted a  call  from  the  Market  Street  Dutch  Re- 
formed Church  of  New  York — a  far  more  difficult 
field  of  labor.  My  ministry  in  Trenton  was  one  of 
unbroken  happiness,  and  the  Church  were  profusely 
kind ;  but  at  the  end  of  nearly  four  years  I  felt  that 
my  work  there  was  done.  The  young  church  had 
built  a  beautiful  house  of  worship  without  a  dime  of 
debt,  and  it  was  filled  by  a  prosperous  congregation. 
I  was  ready  for  a  wider  field  of  labor. 

The  Market  Street  Dutch  Reformed  Church,  to 
which  I  was  called,  was  down  town,  within  ten 
minutes'  walk  of  the  City  Hall,  and  was  beginning 
to  feel  the  inroads  of  the  uptown  migration,  when 
my  excellent  predecessor,  Dr.  Isaac  Ferris,  left  it  to 


MY  HOME  LIFE.  293 

become  the  Chancellor  of  the  New  York  University. 
Although  most  of  the  well-to-do  families  were  mov- 
ing away,  yet  East  Broadway  was  full  of  boarding 
houses  packed  with  young  men  and  these  in  turn 
packed  our  church  on  Sabbath  evenings.  Of  the 
happy  spiritual  harvest-seasons  in  that  old  church, 
especially  during  the  great  awakening  in  1858,  I 
have  written  in  the  chapter  on  Revivals.  I  was  as 
eager  for  work  as  Simon  Peter  was  for  a  good  haul 
in  fishing,  and  every  week  there,  I  met  on  the  plat- 
form the  representatives  of  temperance  societies : 
The  Five  Points  House  of  Industry,  Young  Men's 
Christian  Associations,  Sunday  schools  or  some 
other  religious  or  reformatory  enterprise.  These 
outside  activities  were  no  hindrances  to  either  pulpit 
or  pastoral  work;  and,  like  that  famous  English 
preacher  who  felt  that  he  could  not  have  too  many 
irons  in  the  fire,  I  thrust  in  tongs,  shovel,  poker  and 
all.  The  contact  with  busy  life  and  benevolent 
labors  among  the  poor  supplied  material  for  ser- 
mons ;  for  the  pastor  of  a  city  church  must  touch  life 
at  a  great  many  points.  Our  domestic  experiences  in 
early  housekeeping  were  very  agreeable.  The  social 
conditions  of  New  York  were  less  artificial  than 
now.  Pastoral  calls  in  the  evening  usually  found 
the  people  in  their  homes,  and  I  do  not  believe  there 
were  a  dozen  theatre-goers  in  my  congregation. 
After  a  very  busy  and  heaven-blest  ministry  of  half 


294        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

a  dozen  years,  I  discovered  that  the  rapid  migration 
up  town  would  soon  leave  our  congregation  too  fee- 
ble for  self-support.  I  accordingly  started  a  move- 
ment to  erect  a  new  edifice  up  on  Murray  Hill,  and 
to  retain  the  old  building  in  Market  Street  as  an 
auxiliary  mission  chapel.  A  handsome  subscription 
for  the  erection  of  the  up-town  edifice  was  secured, 
and  the  "Consistory"  (which  is  the  good  Dutch 
designation  of  a  board  of  church  officers),  convened 
to  vote  the  first  payment  for  the  land.  The  new  site 
was  not  wisely  chosen,  and  many  of  my  people  were 
still  opposed  to  any  change ;  but  the  casting  vote  of 
one  good  old  man  (whom  I  shall  thank  if  I  ever  en- 
counter him  in  the  Celestial  World)  negatived  the 
whole  enterprise,  and  it  was  immediately  abandoned. 
A  few  weeks  before  that  decision,  I  had  received 
a  call  to  take  charge  of  a  brave  little  struggling 
Presbyterian  Church  in  the  newer  part  of  Brooklyn. 
I  sent  for  the  officers,  and  informed  them  that  if 
they  would  purchase  the  ground  on  the  corner  of 
Lafayette  Avenue  and  Oxford  Street,  and  pay  for  it 
in  a  fortnight,  and  promise  to  build  for  me  a  church 
with  good  accoustics  and  capable  of  seating  from 
eighteen  hundred  to  two  thousand  auditors,  I  would 
be  their  pastor.  Instead  of  turning  purple  in  the 
lips  at  such  a  bold  proposal,  they  "staggered  not  at 
the  promise  through  unbelief"  and  in  ten  days  they 
brought  me  the  deed  of  the  land  paid  for  to  the 


MY  HOME  LIFE.  295 

uttermost  dollar !  I  resigned  Market  Street  Church 
immediately,  and  on  the  next  Sabbath  morning, 
while  the  Easter  bells  were  ringing  under  a  dark 
stormy  sky,  I  came  over  and  faced,  for  the  first  time, 
the  courageous  founders  of  the  Lafayette  Avenue 
Presbyterian  Church.  The  dear  old  Market  Street 
Church  lingered  on  for  a  few  years  more,  bleeding 
at  every  pore,  from  the  fatal  up-town  migration,  and 
then  peacefully  disbanded.  The  solid  stone  edifice 
was  purchased  by  some  generous  Presbyterians  in 
the  upper  part  of  the  city,  who  organized  there  the 
"Church  of  the  Sea  and  Land,"  which  is  standing 
to-day,  as  a  well-manned  light-house  amid  a  dense 
tenement-house  foreign  population.  The  successful 
work  that  is  now  prosecuted  there  is  another  confir- 
mation of  my  favorite  theory  that  the  only  way  to 
reach  a  neighborhood  crowded  with  the  poorer 
classes,  is  for  the  wealthy  churches  to  spend  money 
for  just  such  an  auxiliary  mission  church  as  is  now 
thriving  in  the  structure  in  which  I  spent  seven 
happy  years  of  my  ministry. 

This  portion  of  Brooklyn  to  which  we  removed  in 
1860,  was  very  sparsely  settled,  and  Rev.  Henry 
Ward  Beecher  said  to  me :  "I  do  not  see  how  you 
can  find  a  congregation  there."  He  lived  to  say  to 
me :  "You  are  now  in  the  center,  and  I  am  out  on 
the  circumference."  Brooklyn  was  then  pre-emi- 
nently a  "city  of  churches,"  and,  though  we  had  not 


296        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

a  dozen  millionaires,  it  was  not  infested  with  any 
slums.  In  a  population  of  over  three  hundred 
thousand  there  was  then  only  a  single  theatre,  and 
when  one  of  our  people  was  asked :  "What  do  you 
do  for  recreation  over  there?"  he  replied,  "We  go 
to  church." 

Certainly  no  one  was  ever  attracted  to  our  own 
modest  little  temporary  sanctuary  by  its  beauty ;  for 
it  was  unsightly  without,  though  very  cheerful  with- 
in. Soon  after  we  commenced  the  building  of  our 
present  stately  edifice  the  startling  report  of  cannon 
shook  the  land  from  sea  to  sea. 

"And  then  we  saw  from  Sumter's  wall 
The  star-flag  of  the  Union  fall, 
And  armed  hosts  were  pressing  on 
The  broken  lines  of  Washington." 

Every  other  public  edifice  in  this  city  then  in  proc- 
ess of  erection  was  brought  to  a  standstill;  but 
we  pushed  forward  the  work,  like  Nehemiah's 
builders,  with  a  trowel  in  one  hand  and  a  weapon  in 
the  other.  To  raise  funds  for  the  structure,  required 
faith  and  self-denial,  and  in  this  labor  of  love, 
woman's  five  fingers  were  busy  and  helpful.  One 
brave  orphan  girl  in  New  York  gave,  from  her  hard 
earnings  as  a  public  school  teacher,  a  sum  so  large 
that  the  announcement  of  it  from  my  pulpit  aroused 
great  enthusiasm,  and  turned  the  scale  at  the  critical 


MY  HOME  LIFE.  297 

moment,  and  insured  the  completion  of  the  struc- 
ture. Justly  may  our  pulpit  vindicate  woman's 
place,  and  woman's  province  in  the  cause  of  Christ 
and  humanity,  for  without  woman's  help  that  pulpit 
might  never  have  been  erected. 

On  the  1 6th  of  March,  1862,  our  church  edifice 
was  dedicated  to  the  worship  of  Almighty  God,  Dr. 
Asa  D.  Smith,  of  Dartmouth  College,  delivering  the 
dedication  sermon,  and  in  the  evening,  my  brilliant 
and  beloved  brother,  Professor  Roswell  D.  Hitch- 
cock, gave  us  one  of  his  incisive  and  inspiring  dis- 
courses. The  building  accommodates  eighteen  hun- 
dred worshippers,  and  in  emergencies,  twenty-five 
hundred.  It  is  a  model  of  cheerfulness  and  conveni- 
ence, and  is  so  felicitous  in  its  acoustics  that  an  or- 
dinary conversational  tone  can  be  heard  at  the  op- 
posite end  of  the  auditorium.  The  picture  of  the 
Church  in  this  volume  gives  no  adequate  idea  of  the 
size  of  the  edifice ;  for  the  Sunday  School  Hall  and 
lecture-room  and  social  parlors  are  situated  in  the 
rear,  and  could  not  be  presented  in  the  photo- 
graphic view.  I  fear  that  too  many  costly 
church  edifices  are  erected  that  are  quite  unfit 
for  our  Protestant  modes  of  religious  service.  It  is 
said  that  when  Bishop  Potter  was  called  upon  to 
consecrate  one  of  the  "dim  religious"  specimens  of 
mediaeval  architecture,  and  was  asked  his  opinion  of 
the  new  structure,  he  replied:  "It  is  a  beautiful 


298        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

building,  with  only  three  faults:  you  cannot  see  in 
it — you  cannot  hear  in  it — you  cannot  breathe  in  it." 
I  need  not  detail  the  story  of  my  happy  Brooklyn 
pastorate;  for  that  is  succinctly  given  in  the  clos- 
ing chapter  of  this  volume.  Our  home-life  here  for 
the  past  forty-two  years  has  been  a  record  of  per- 
petual providential  mercies  and  unfailing  kindness 
on  the  part  of  my  parishioners  and  fellow  towns- 
men. Brooklyn,  although  removed  from  New 
York  ( for  I  cannot  yet  twist  my  tongue  into  calling 
it  "Manhattan")  by  a  five  minutes'  journey  on  the 
East  River  Bridge,  is  a  very  different  town  in  its 
political  and  social  aspects.  New  York  is  penned  in 
on  a  narrow  island,  and  ground  is  worth  more  than 
gold.  It  is  therefore  piled  up  with  very  fine  apart- 
ment houses  for  the  rich,  or  tenement  houses  for  the 
poor  to  more  stories  than  the  ancient  buildings  on 
the  Canongate  of  Edinburgh.  Here  in  Brooklyn 
we  have  all  Long  Island  to  spread  over,  and  land  is 
within  the  reach  of  even  a  parson's  purse.  A  man 
never  feels  so  rich  as  when  he  owns  a  bit  of  real 
estate,  and  I  take  some  satisfaction  in  the  bit  of  land 
in  the  front  of  my  domicile,  and  in  the  rear,  capable 
of  holding  several  fruit  trees  and  rose-beds.  Oxford 
Street  has  the  deep  shade  of  a  New  England  village. 
We  come  to  know  our  neighbors  here,  wnich  is  a 
degree  of  knowledge  not  often  attained  in  New 
York  or  London.  The  social  life  here  is  also  less 


THE  LAFAYETTE  AVENUE  CHURCH. 


MY  HOME  LIFE.  299 

artificial  than  at  the  other  end  of  the  bridge.  There 
is  less  of  the  foreign  element,  and  of  either  great 
wealth  or  poverty;  we  have  neither  the  splendor  of 
Paris,  nor  the  squalor  of  the  by-streets  of  Naples. 
The  name  of  "Breucklen"  was  given  to  our  town  by 
its  original  Dutch  settlers,  but  the  aggressive  New 
Englanders  pushed  in  and  it  is  a  more  thoroughly 
Yankee  city  to-day  than  any  city  in  the  land  out- 
side of  New  England.  My  old  friend,  Mayor  Low, 
urged  the  consolidation  of  Brooklyn  with  New  York 
on  the  ground  that  its  moral  and  civic  influence 
would  be  a  wholesome  counteraction  of  Tammany 
and  the  tenement-house  politics.  For  self-protec- 
tion, I  joined  with  my  lamented  brother,  the  late  Dr. 
Storrs,  in  an  effort  to  maintain  our  independence. 
Ours  is  pre-eminently  a  city  of  homes  where  the  bulk 
of  the  people  live  in  an  undivided  dwelling,  and 
I  do  not  believe  that  there  is  another  city  either  in 
America,  or  elsewhere,  that  contains  over  a  million 
inhabitants,  so  large  a  proportion  of  whom  are  in  a 
school  house  during  the  week,  and  in  God's  house 
on  the  Sabbath. 

One  of  the  glories  of  Brooklyn  is  its  vast  and 
picturesque  "Prospect  Park,"  with  natural  forests, 
hills  and  dales  and  its  superb  outlook  over  the  bay 
and  ocean. 

I  hope  that  it  may  not  be  a  violation  of  propriety 
to  say  that  the  Park  Commissioners  in  this  city  of 


300        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

my  adoption  bestowed  my  own  name  on  a  pretty 
plot  of  ground  not  far  from  my  residence;  and  its 
bright  show  of  flowers  makes  it  a  constant  delight 
to  my  neighbors.  Last  year  some  of  my  fellow- 
townspeople  made  an  exceedingly  generous  proposi- 
tion to  place  there  a  memorial  statue ;  and  I  felt  com- 
pelled to  publish  the  following  reply  to  an  offer 
which  quite  transcended  any  claim  that  I  could  have 
to  such  an  honor: 

176  SOUTH  OXFORD  STREET, 

JUNE  12,  1901. 
MESS.  JOHN  N.  BEACH,  D.  W.  McWimAMs,  AND  THOMAS 

T.  BARR: 
My  Dear  Sirs, 

I  'have  just  received  your  kind  letter  in  which  you  ex- 
press the  desire  of  yourselves  and  of  several  of  our  promi- 
nent citizens  that  I  would  consent  to  the  erection  of  a 
"Memorial  in  Cuyler  Park"  to  be  placed  there  by  volun- 
tary contributions  of  generous  friends  here  and  elsewhere. 
Do  not,  I  entreat  you,  regard  me  as  indifferent  to  a 
proposition  whose  motive  affords  the  most  profound  and 
heartfelt  gratitude;  but  a  work  of  art  in  bronze  or  mar- 
ble, such  as  has  been  suggested,  that  would  be  creditable 
to  our  city,  would  require  an  outlay  of  money  that  I  can- 
not conscientiously  consent  to  have  expended  for  the  pur- 
pose of  personal  honor  rather  than  of  public  utility.  Sev- 
eral years  ago  the  city  authorities  honored  me  by  giving 
my  name  to  the  attractive  plot  of  ground  at  the  junction 
of  Fulton  and  Greene  Avenues.  If  my  most  esteemed 


MY  HOME  LIFE.  301 

friend,  Park  Commissioner  Brower,  will  kindly  have  my 
name  visibly  and  permanently  affixed  to  that  little  park, 
and  will  direct  that  it  be  always  kept  as  bright  and  beau- 
tiful with  flowers  as  it  now  is,  I  shall  be  abundantly 
satisfied.  I  have  been  permitted  to  spend  forty-one  su- 
premely happy  years  in  this  city  which  I  heartily  love, 
and  for  whose  people  I  have  joyfully  labored;  and  while 
the  permanent  fruits  of  these  labors  remain,  I  trust  I 
shall  not  pass  out  of  all  affectionate  remembrance.  A 
monument  reared  by  human  hands  may  fade  away;  but 
if  God  has  enabled  me  to  engrave  my  humble  name  on 
any  living  hearts,  they  will  be  the  best  monument;  for 
hearts  live  on  forever.  While  declining  the  proffered 
honor,  may  I  ask  you  to  convey  my  most  sincere  and  cordial 
thanks  to  the  kind  friends  who  have  joined  with  you  in 
this  generous  proposal,  and,  with  warm  personal  regard, 
I  remain, 

Yours  faithfully, 

THEODORE  L.    CUYLER. 


I  cannot  refrain  here  from  thanking  my  old 
friend,  Dr.  St.  Clair  McKelway,  the  brilliant  editor 
of  the  Brooklyn  Eagle,  for  his  generous  tribute 
which  accompanied  the  publication  of  the  above 
letter.  His  grandfather,  Dr.  John  McKelway,  a 
typical  Scotchman,  was  my  family  physician  and 
church  deacon  in  the  city  of  Trenton.  Among  the 
editorial  fraternity  let  me  also  mention  here  the 
name  of  my  near  neighbor,  Mr.  Edward  Gary,  of  the 
New  York  Times,  who  was  with  me  in  Fort  Sum- 


302        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

ter,  at  the  restoration  of  the  flag,  and  with  whom 
I  have  foregathered  in  many  a  fertilizing  conversa- 
tion. Away  off  on  the  slope  above  beautiful  Stock- 
bridge,  and  surrounded  by  his  Berkshire  Hills,  Dr. 
Henry  M.  Field  is  spending  the  bright  "Indian 
summer"  of  his  long  and  honored  career.  For  forty 
years  we  held  sweet  fellowship  in  the  columns  of 
the  New  York  Evangelist. 

The  experience  of  the  great  Apostle  at  Rome,  who 
dwelt  for  nearly  two  years  in  his  "hired  house," 
has  been  followed  by  numberless  examples  of  the 
ministers  of  the  Gospel  who  have  had  a  migratory 
home  life.  My  experience  under  rented  roofs  led 
me  to  build,  in  1865,  this  dwelling,  which  has  housed 
our  domestic  life  for  seven  and  thirty  years.  A  true 
homestead  is  not  a  Jonah's  gourd  for  temporary 
shelter  from  sun  and  storm,  it  is  a  treasure  house  of 
accumulations.  Many  of  its  contents  are  precious 
heirlooms ;  its  apartments  are  thronged  with  memo- 
ries of  friends  and  kinsfolk  living  or  departed. 
Every  room  has  its  scores  of  occupants,  every  wall 
is  gladdened  with  the  visions  of  loved  faces.  I 
look  into  yonder  guest  chamber,  and  find  my  old 
friends,  Governor  Buckingham,  and  Vice-President 
Wilson,  who  were  ready  to  discuss  the  conditions  of 
the  temperance  reform  which  they  had  come  to  ad- 
vocate. Down  in  the  dining-room  the  "Chi- Alpha" 
Society  of  distinguished  ministers  are  holding  their 


MY  HOME  LIFE.  303 

Saturday  evening  symposium ;  in  the  parlor  my  Irish 
guest,  the  Earl  of  Meath,  is  describing  to  me  his 
philanthropies  in  London,  and  his  Countess  is  de- 
scribing her  organization  of  "Ministering  Children." 
In  the  library,  Whittier  is  writing  at  the  table;  or 
Mr.  Fulton  is  narrating  his  missionary  work  in 
China ;  out  on  the  piazza,  my  veteran  neighbor,  Gen- 
eral Silas  Casey,  is  telling  the  thrilling  story  of  how 
he  led  our  troops  at  the  storming  of  the  Heights  of 
Chapultepec;  up  the  steps  comes  dear  old  John  G 
Paton,  with  his  patriarchal  white  beard,  to  say 
"good-bye,"  before  he  goes  back  to  his  mission 
work  in  the  New  Hebrides. 

No  room  in  our  dwelling  is  more  sacred  than  the 
one  in  which  I  now  write.  On  its  walls  hang  the 
portraits  of  my  Princeton  Professors,  and  those  of 
majestic  Chalmers  and  the  gnarled  brow  of  Hugh 
Miller,  the  Scotch  geologist,  the  precious  gifts  of 
the  author  of  "Rab  and  His  Friend."  Near  them 
is  the  bright  face  of  dear  Henry  Drummond,  look- 
ing just  as  he  did  on  that  stormy  evening  when  he 
came  into  my  library  a  few  hours  after  his  arrival 
from  Scotland.  I  still  recall  his  reply  to  me  in 
Edinburgh,  when  I  cautioned  him  against  permit? 
ting  his  scientific  studies  to  unspiritualize  his  active 
ties.  "Never  you  fear,"  said  he,  "I  am  too  busy  in 
trying  to  save  young  men ;  and  the  only  way  to  do 
that  is  to  lead  them  to  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ."  In 


304        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

former  years  this  room  was  my  beloved  mother's 
"Chamber  of  Peace"  that  opens  to  the  sun-rising. 
Her  pictured  face  looks  down  upon  me  now  from 
the  wall,  and  her  Bible  lies  beside  me.  In  this  room 
we  gathered  on  the  afternoon  of  September  14, 
1887,  around  her  dying  bed.  Her  last  words  were: 
"Now  kiss  me  good  night,"  and  in  an  hour  or  two 
she  fell  into  that  sweet  slumber  which  Christ  gives 
His  beloved,  at  the  ripe  age  of  eighty-five.  Her 
mental  powers  and  memory  were  unimpaired.  On 
the  monument  which  covers  her  sleeping  dust  in 
Greenwood  is  engraved  these  words :  "Return  unto 
thy  rest,  O  my  soul ;  for  the  Lord  hath  dealt  bounti- 
fully with  thee." 

This  room  is  also  hallowed  by  another  tenderly 
sacred  association.  Here  our  beloved  daughter, 
Louise  Ledyard  Cuyler,  closed  her  beautiful  life  on 
the  last  day  of  September,  1881.  On  her  return 
from  Narragansett  Pier,  she  was  stricken  with  a  x 
mysterious  typhoid  fever,  which  often  lays  its  fatal 
touch  on  the  most  youthful  and  vigorous  frame. 
She  had  apparently  passed  the  point  of  danger,  and 
one  Sabbath  when  I  read  to  her  that  one  hundred 
and  twenty-first  Psalm,  which  records  the  watchful 
love  of  Him  who  "never  sleeps,"  our  hearts  were 
gladdened  with  the  prospect  of  a  speedy  recovery. 
Then  came  on  a  fatal  relapse ;  and  in  the  early  hour 
of  dawn,  while  our  breaking  hearts  were  gathered 


MY  HOME  LIFE.  305 

around  her  dying  bed,  she  had  "another  morn  than 
ours."  Why  that  noble  and  gifted  daughter,  who 
was  the  inseparable  companion  of  her  fond  mother, 
and  who  was  developing  into  the  sweet  graces  of 
young  womanhood,  was  taken  from  our  clinging 
arms  at  the  early  age  of  twenty-two,  God  only  knows. 
Many  another  aching  parental  heart  has  doubtless 
knocked  at  the  sealed  door  of  such  a  mystery,  and 
heard  the  only  response,  "What  I  do  thou  knowest 
not  now,  but  thou  shalt  know  hereafter."  Upon  the 
monument  that  bears  her  name,  graven  on  a  cross, 
amid  a  cluster  of  white  lilies,  is  inscribed :  "I  thank 
my  God  upon  every  remembrance  of  thee."  The 
lovely  twin  brother,  "Georgie"  (whose  sweet  life 
story  is  told  in  "The  Empty  Crib"),  reposes  in  our 
same  family  plot,  and  beside  him  lies  a  baby  brother, 
Mathiot  Cuyler,  who  lived  but  twelve  days.  As  this 
infant  was  born  on  the  twenty-fifth  of  December, 
1873,  his  tiny  tomb-stone  bears  the  simple  inscrip- 
tion :  "Our  Christmas  Gift." 

During  all  our  seasons  of  domestic  sorrow  the 
cordial  sympathies  of  our  noble-hearted  congrega- 
tion were  very  cheering;  for  we  had  always  kept 
open  doors  to  them  all,  and  regarded  them  as  only 
an  enlargement  of  our  own  family.  In  our  house- 
hold joys,  they  too,  participated.  When  the  twenty- 
fifth  anniversary  of  our  marriage  occurred,  they 
decorated  our  church  with  flags  and  flowers  and  sus- 


306        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

pended  a  huge  marriage-bell  on  an  arch  before  the 
pulpit.  After  the  President  of  our  Board  of  Trus- 
tees, the  Hon.  William  W.  Goodrich,  had  completed 
his  congratulatory  address,  two  of  the  officers  of  the 
church  in  imitation  of  the  returning  spies  from 
Eshcol  marched  in,  "bearing  between  them  on  a 
staff"  a  capacious  bag  of  silver  dollars.  A  curi- 
ously constructed  silver  clock  is  also  among  the 
treasured  souvenirs  of  that  happy  anniversary. 

In  April,  1885,  the  close  of  the  first  quarter-cen- 
tury of  my  ministry  was  celebrated  by  our  church 
with  very  delightful  festivities.  Addresses  were  de- 
livered by  his  Honor  Mayor  Low,  Dr.  McCosh,  of 
Princeton,  Dr.  Richard  S.  Storrs,  and  the  Hon. 
John  Wanamaker,  Post-Master  General.  A  duo- 
decimo volume  giving  the  history  of  our  church  and 
all  its  activities  was  published  by  order  of  our 
people. 

From  such  a  loyal  flock  in  the  full  tide  of  its 
prosperity,  to  cut  asunder,  required  no  small  exer- 
cise of  conscience  and  of  courage.  When  the  patri- 
archal Dr.  Emmons,  of  Franklin,  Massachusetts,  re- 
signed his  church  at  the  age  of  eighty,  he  gave  the 
good  reason:  "I  mean  to  stop  when  I  have  sense 
enough  to  know  that  I  have  not  begun  to  fail." 
In  exercising  the  same  grace,  on  a  Sabbath  morning 
in  February,  1890,  I  made  before  a  full  congrega- 
tion the  following  announcement:  "Nearly  thirty 


MY  HOME  LIFE.  307 

years  have  elapsed  since  I  assumed  the  pastoral 
charge  of  the  Lafayette  Avenue  Presbyterian 
Church;  and  through  the  continual  blessings  of 
Heaven  upon  us  it  has  grown  into  one  of  the  largest 
and  most  useful  and  powerful  churches  in  the  Pres- 
byterian denomination.  It  has  two  thousand  three 
hundred  and  thirty  members;  and  is  third  in  point 
of  numbers  in  the  United  States.  This  church  has 
always  been  to  me  like  a  beloved  child :  I  have 
given  to  it  thirty  years  of  hard  and  happy  labor.  It 
is  now  my  foremost  desire  that  its  harmony  may  re- 
main undisturbed,  and  that  its  prosperity  may  re- 
main unbroken.  For  a  long  time  I  have  intended 
that  my  thirtieth  anniversary  should  be  the  terminal 
point  of  my  present  pastorate.  I  shall  then  have 
served  this  beloved  flock  for  an  ordinary  human 
generation,  and  the  time  has  now  come  to  transfer 
this  most  sacred  trust  to  some  other,  who,  in  God's 
good  Providence,  may  have  thirty  years  of  vigorous 
work  before  him,  and  not  behind  him.  If  God 
spares  my  life  to  the  first  Sabbath  in  April,  it  is  my 
purpose  to  surrender  this  pulpit  back  into  your 
hands,  and  I  shall  endeavor  to  co-operate  with  you 
in  the  search  and  selection  of  the  right  man  to  stand 
in  it.  I  will  not  trust  myself  to-day  to  speak  of  the 
pang  it  will  cost  me  to  sever  a  connection  that  has 
been  to  me  one  of  unalloyed  harmony  and  happiness. 
It  only  remains  for  me  to  say  that  after  forty-four 


3o8        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

years  of  uninterrupted  mental  labor  it  is  but  reason- 
able to  ask  for  some  relief  from  the  strain  that  may 
soon  become  too  heavy  for  me  to  bear." 

The  congregation  was  quite  astounded  by  this 
unexpected  announcement;  but  they  recognized  the 
motive  that  prompted  the  step,  and  acted  precisely 
as  I  desired.  They  agreed  at  once  to  appoint  a  com- 
mittee to  look  for  a  successor.  In  order  that  I  might 
not  hamper  him  in  any  respect,  I  declined  the  gener- 
ous offer  of  our  church  to  make  me  their  "Pastor 
Emeritus." 

As  my  pastorate  began  on  an  Easter  Sabbath,  in 
1860,  so  it  terminated  at  the  Easter  in  1890.  Be- 
fore an  immense  assemblage  I  delivered,  on  that 
bright  Sabbath,  the  Valedictory  discourse  which 
closes  the  present  volume,  and  which  gives  in  con- 
densed form  the  history  of  the  Lafayette  Avenue 
Church. 

Our  noble  people  never  do  anything  by  halves ; 
and  a  few  evenings  after  the  delivery  of  my  valedic- 
tory discourse  they  gave  to  their  pastor  and  his  wife 
a  public  reception,  for  which  the  church,  lecture- 
room  and  the  church  parlors  were  profusely 
adorned ;  and  were  crowded  with  guests.  Congratu- 
latory addresses  were  delivered  by  Dr.  John  Hall  of 
the  Fifth  Avenue  Presbyterian  Church,  New  York, 
by  Professor  William  M.  Paxton,  of  Princeton 
Theological  Seminary;  and  congratulatory  letters 


MY  HOME  LIFE.  309 

were  read  from  the  venerable  poet,  Whittier,  the 
Hon.  William  Walter  Phelps,  Mr.  A.  A.  Low  (the 
Mayor's  father),  General  William  H.  Seward, 
Bishop  Potter  and  Dr.  Herrick  Johnson,  besides  a 
vast  number  of  others  renowned  in  Church  and 
State.  On  behalf  of  the  Brooklyn  pastors  an  ad- 
dress was  pronounced  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  L.  T. 
Chamberlain,  which  was  a  rare  gem  of  sparkling 
oratory.  In  his  concluding  passage  he  said :  "Nor 
in  all  these  have  I  for  an  instant  forgotten  the  dual 
nature  of  that  ministry,  which  has  been  so  richly 
blessed.  I  recall  that  in  the  prophet's  symbolic  act, 
he  took  to  himself  two  staves,  the  one  was  'Beauty,' 
while  the  other  was  'Bands.'  In  the  kingdom  of 
grace  and  in  the  kingdom  of  nature,  loveliness  is 
ever  the  fit  complement  of  strength.  Accordingly, 
to  her,  who  has  been  the  enthroned  one  in  the  heart, 
the  light-giver  in  the  home,  the  beloved  of  the 
church,  we  tender  our  most  fervent  good  wishes. 
For  her  also  we  lift  on  high  our  faithful,  tender 
intercession.  To  each,  to  both,  we  give  the  renewed 
assurance  of  our  abiding  affection.  God  grant  that 
life's  shadows  may  lengthen  gently  and  slowly! 
Late,  may  you  both  ascend  to  Heaven:  long  and 
happily  may  you  abide  with  us  here!"  The  report 
of  the  proceedings  of  that  evening  says  that  at  this 
reference  to  the  "dual"  character  of  his  ministry, 
"the  veteran  pastor  sprang  to  his  feet  and,  seizing 


310        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

Dr.  Chamberlain's  hand,  exclaimed:  'I  thank  you 
for  that;  and  the  whole  assembly's  applause  re- 
vealed its  heart-felt  sympathy."  I  had  declined 
more  than  once,  for  good  reasons,  the  kind  offer  of 
my  generous  flock  to  increase  my  salary,  but,  when 
on  that  evening  that  crowned  my  thirty  years  of 
labor,  my  dear  neighbor  and  church  elder,  Mr.  John 
N.  Beach  (on  behalf  of  the  congregation),  put  into 
my  hands  a  cheque  for  thirty  thousand  dollars,  "not 
as  a  charity  but  as  a  token  of  our  warm  hearted 
grateful  love."  I  could  only  say  with  the  Apostle 
Paul:  "I  rejoice  in  the  Lord  that  your  care  has 
blossomed  out  afresh"  (for  this  is  the  literal  read- 
ing of  the  great  apostle's  gratitude). 

The  proceedings  of  that  memorable  evening  were 
closed  by  a  benediction  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Charles  L. 
Thompson,  then  Moderator  of  our  General  Assem- 
bly and  now  the  super-royal  Secretary  of  our 
Board  of  Home  Missions.  The  proceedings  were 
afterwards  compiled  in  a  beautiful  volume  entitled 
"A  Thirty  Years'  Pastorate,"  by  the  good  taste  and 
literary  skill  of  my  beloved  friend,  the  late  Jacob  L. 
Gossler. 

In  justice  to  myself,  let  me  say  that  I  have  given 
this  narrative  of  the  closing  scenes  of  my  pastoral 
labors,  not,  I  trust,  as  a  matter  of  personal  vain 
glory;  but  that  good  Christian  people  in  our  own 
land  and  in  other  lands  may  learn  from  the  example 


MY  HOME  LIFE.  311 

of  the  Lafayette  Avenue  Presbyterian  Church  how 
to  treat  a  pastor,  whose  simple  aim  has  been,  with 
God's  help,  to  do  his  duty. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

LIFE  AT  HOME — AND  FRIENDS  ABROAD. 

A  FEW  months  after  my  resignation,  the  Lafay- 
ette Avenue  Church  extended  an  unanimous  call  to 
the  Rev.  Dr.  David  Gregg,  who  had  become  distin- 
guished as  a  powerful  preacher,  and  the  successful 
pastor  of  the  old,  historic  Park  Street  Church,  of 
Boston.  He  is  also  widely  known  by  his  published 
works,  which  display  great  vigor  and  beauty  of 
style,  and  a  fervid  spirituality.  When  Dr.  Gregg 
came  on  to  assume  his  office,  I  was  glad,  not  only 
to  give  him  a  hearty  welcome,  but  to  assure  him 
that,  "as  no  one  had  ever  come  up  into  the  pilot 
house  to  interfere  with  the  helmsman,  so  I  would 
never  lay  my  hand  on  the  wheel  that  should  steer 
that  superb  vessel  in  all  its  future  voyagings."  From 
that  day  to  this,  my  relations  with  my  beloved  suc- 
cessor have  been  unspeakably  fraternal  and  delight- 
ful. While  I  have  left  the  entire  official  charge  of 
the  church  in  his  hands,  there  have  been  many  oc- 
casions on  which  we  have  co-operated  in  various 

pastoral  duties  among  a  flock  that  was  equally  dear 
312 


LIFE  AT  HOME— AND  FRIENDS  ABROAD.    313 

to  us  both.  Recently  the  Rev.  George  R.  Lunn,  & 
young  minister  of  exceedingly  attractive  qualities 
both  in  the  pulpit  and  in  personal  intercourse,  has 
been  installed  as  an  assistant  pastor.  The  divine 
blessing  has  constantly  rested  upon  the  noble  old 
church,  which  has  gone  steadily  on,  like  a  powerful 
ocean  steamer,  well-manned,  well-equipped,  well- 
freighted,  and  well  guided  by  the  compass  of  God's 
infallible  word.  Last  year  the  church  rendered  a 
signal  service  to  the  cause  of  Foreign  Missions  by 
erecting  a  "David  Gregg  Hospital"  and  a  "Theo- 
dore L.  Cuyler  Church"  in  Canton,  China.  They 
are  both  under  the  supervision  of  the  Rev.  Albert  A. 
Fulton,  who  went  out  to  China  from  our  Lafayette 
Avenue  flock,  and  has  been  a  most  energetic  and 
successful  missionary  for  more  than  twenty  years. 
My  ministry  at  large  has  brought  a  needed  rest, 
not  by  idleness,  but  by  a  change  in  the  character  of 
my  employment.  Instead  of  a  weekly  preparation  of 
sermons,  has  come  the  preparation  of  more  frequent 
contributions  to  the  religious  press.  Instead  of 
pastoral  visitations  have  been  the  journeyings  to 
different  churches,  or  colleges,  and  universities  and 
Young  Men's  Christian  Associations  for  preaching 
services.  I  doubt  whether  any  other  dozen  years 
of  my  life  have  been  more  crowded  with  various 
activities.  To  my  dear  wife  and  myself  have  come 
increased  opportunities  for  travel,  which  have  been, 


314        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

during  the  almost  half  century  of  our  happy  wedded 
life,  a  constant  source  of  enjoyment.  We  have 
journeyed  together  from  Bar  Harbor,  in  Maine,  to 
Coronado  Beach,  in  Southern  California.  We  have 
traversed  together  the  Adirondacks,  the  White 
Mountains  and  the  Catskills,  the  prairies  of  Dakota 
and  the  orange  groves  of  Florida,  the  peerless  parks 
of  Dei  Monte  on  the  shores  of  the  Pacific,  and  the 
"Royal  Gorge"  in  the  heart  of  the  Rocky  Mountain 
Range.  Our  various  trips  to  Europe  have  photo- 
graphed on  our  hearts  the  memories  of  many  dear 
friends  and  faces,  some  of  whom,  alas!  have  van- 
ished into  the  unseen  world.  In  the  summer  of 
1889,  when  we  were  at  Ayr,  the  late  Mr.  Alexander 
Allan,  came  down  for  us  in  his  fine  steam  yacht,  the 
Tigh-na-Mara,  and  took  us  up  to  his  hospitable 
"Hafton  House"  on  the  Holy  Loch,  a  few  miles 
below  Glasgow.  For  several  days  he  gave  us  yacht- 
ing excursions  through  Loch  Goil,  and  the  Kyles  of 
Bute,  and  Loch  Long,  with  glimpses  of  Ben-Lomond 
and  other  monarchs  of  the  Highlands.  When  we 
saw  the  gorgeous  purple  garniture  of  heather  in  full 
bloom,  we  no  longer  wondered  that  Sir  Walter 
Scott  was  quite  satisfied  to  have  his  beloved  hills  de- 
void of  forests. 

Another  memorable  visit  of  that  summer  was  to 
Chillingham  Castle  in  Northumberland,  from  whose 
towers  we  got  views  of  Flodden  Field  and  the 


LIFE  AT  HOME— AND  FRIENDS  ABROAD.   315 

scenes  of  "Marmion."  The  venerable  Earl  of 
Tankerville  (who  was  a  contemporary  and  sup- 
porter of  Sir  Robert  Peel  in  Parliament),  and  his 
warm-hearted  Countess,  who  has  long  been  a  leader 
in  various  Christian  philanthropies,  entertained  us 
delightfully  within  walls  that  had  stood  for  six  cen- 
turies. In  a  forest  near  the  Castle  were  the  famous 
herd  of  wild  cattle  which  are  the  only  survivors  of 
the  original  herd  that  roamed  that  region  in  the 
days  of  William  the  Conqueror.  They  are  beautiful 
white  creatures,  still  too  wild  to  be  approached  very 
nearly;  and  Sir  Edwin  Landseer,  an  old  friend  of 
the  Earl,  has  preserved  life-sized  portraits  of  two 
of  them  on  the  walls  of  the  lofty  dining  hall  of  the 
castle.  When  the  servants,  gardeners  and  other 
retainers  assembled  for  morning  worship  in  the 
chapel,  the  handsome  old  Earl  presided  at  the 
melodeon,  and  the  singing  was  from  our  American 
Sankey's  hymn-book,  a  style  of  music  that  would 
have  startled  the  belted  knights  and  barons  bold 
who  worshipped  in  that  chapel  five  centuries  ago. 

While  at  Dundee,  as  the  guests  of  Mr.  Alexander 
H.  Moncur,  the  Ex-provost  of  the  city,  I  had  the 
satisfaction  of  preaching  in  St.  Peters  Presbyterian 
Church,  whose  pastor,  sixty  years  ago,  was  that 
ideal  minister,  Robert  Murray  McCheyne.  The 
Bible  from  which  he  delivered  his  seraphic  sermons 
was  still  lying  on  the  pulpit.  When  I  asked  a  plain 


316        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

woman,  the  wife  of  a  weaver,  what  she  could  tell  me 
about  his  discourses,  her  remarkable  reply  was :  "It 
did  me  more  good  just  to  see  Mr.  McCheyne  walk 
from  the  door  to  his  pulpit  than  to  hear  any  other 
man  in  Dundee."  A  fine  tribute,  that,  to  the  power  of 
a  Christly  personality.  A  sermon  in  shoes  is  often 
more  eloquent  and  soul-convincing  than  a  sermon 
on  paper.  I  spent  a  very  pleasant  hour  with  sturdy  I 
John  Bright,  and  he  told  me  that  he  had  more  rela- 
tives living  in  America  than  in  England.  His  reason 
for  declining  the  invitation  of  our  government  to 
visit  the  United  States  was  that  he  knew  too  well 
what  our  enthusiastic  countrymen  had  in  store  for 
him.  The  separation  of  Bright  and  Gladstone  on 
the  question  of  Irish  Home  Rule  had  a  certain  tragic 
element  of  sadness.  When  I  spoke  of  this  to  Mr. 
Gladstone,  the  old  statesman  of  Hawarden  tenderly 
replied:  "Whenever  I  think  now  of  my  dear  old 
friend,  I  always  think  only  of  those  days  when  we 
were  in  our  warmest  fellowship."  Among  the  many 
other  recollections  of  foreign  incidents  I  must  men- 
tion a  very  delightful  luncheon  at  Athens  with  Dr. 
Schlieman  in  his  superb  house  which  was  filled  with 
the  trophies  of  his  exploration  of  the  Troad  and  My- 
cense.  I  found  him  a  most  genial  man ;  and  he  told 
me  that  he  had  never  surrendered  his  American 
citizenship,  acquired  in  1850.  It  was  very  amusing 
to  hear  him  and  his  Grecian  wife  address  their 


LIFE  AT  HOME— AND  FRIENDS  ABROAD.  317 

children  as  "Agamemnon"  and  "Andromache'* 
and  I  half  expected  to  see  Plato  drop  in  for  a  chat, 
or  Euripides  call  with  an  invitation  to  witness  a 
rehearsal  of  the  "Medea."  Athens  is  to  me  the  most 
satisfactory  of  all  the  restored  cities  of  antiquity; 
every  relic  there  is  so  indisputably  genuine.  My 
sunrise  view  from  the  Parthenon  was  a  fair  match 
for  a  midnight  view  I  once  had  of  Olivet  and  Geth- 
semane. 

I  cannot  close  these  recollections  of  foreign 
friends  without  making  mention  of  the  late  Mr. 
William  Tweedie  and  his  successor  the  late  Mr. 
Robert  Rae,  the  efficient  Secretaries  of  the  National 
Temperance  League  (of  which  Archbishop  Temple 
has  long  been  the  President).  They  rendered  me 
endless  acts  of  kindness,  and  at  their  anniversary 
meetings  I  met  many  of  the  most  prominent  advo- 
cates of  the  temperance  reform  in  Great  Britain.  It 
gives  me  a  sharp  pang  to  recall  the  fact  that  of  all 
the  leaders  whom  I  met  at  those  meetings,  the 
gallant  Sir  Wilfred  Lawson  and  Mr.  Caine  are 
almost  the  only  survivors. 

Returning  now  to  the  scenes  of  our  happy  home 
life  I  should  be  criminally  neglectful  if  I  failed  to 
give  even  a  brief  account  of  the  gratifying  incidents 
connected  with  the  recent  commemoration  of  my 
eightieth  birthday.  Reluctant  as  I  was  to  quit  the 
good  Society  of  the  Seventies,  the  transition  into 


318        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

four-score  was  lubricated  by  so  many  loving  kind- 
nesses that  I  scarcely  felt  a  jolt  or  a  jar.  During 
the  whole  month  of  January  a  steady  shower  of  con- 
gratulatory letters  poured  in  from  all  parts  of  the 
land  and  from  beyond  sea,  so  that  I  was  made  to 
realize  the  poet  Wordsworth's  modest  confession : 

"I've  heard  of  hearts  unkind  kind  deeds 

With   coldness   still   returning, 
Alas,  the  gratitude  of  men 
Has   oftener   left   me   mourning." 

In  anticipation  of  the  event  Mrs.  Houghton,  the 
editor  of  the  New  York  Evangelist,  to  which  I  have 
been  so  long  a  contributor,  issued  a  "Birthday  Num- 
ber" containing  the  most  kindly  expressions  from 
representatives  of  different  Christian  denominations, 
and  officers  of  various  benevolent  societies,  and  from 
representative  men  in  secular  affairs,  like  Mr. 
Andrew  Carnegie,  Mr.  Jesup,  General  Woodford, 
the  Hon.  Mr.  Coombs,  Dr.  St.  Clair  McKelway,  and 
others.  On  the  afternoon  of  January  Qth,  the  Na- 
tional Temperance  Society  honored  me  with  a  recep- 
tion at  their  Publication  House  in  New  York,  which 
was  attended  by  many  eminent  citizens  and  clergy- 
men, and  "honorable  women  not  a  few."  Letters 
and  telegrams  from  many  quarters  were  read  and 
an  eloquent  address  was  pronounced  by  Mr.  Joshua 
L.  Baily,  the  President  of  the  Society.  The  eve- 


DR.  CUYLER  AT  80. 
From  a  photograph,  January,  1903. 


LIFE  AT  HOME— AND  FRIENDS  ABROAD.  315 

ning  of  my  birthday,  the  loth  of  January,  was  spent 
in  our  own  home,  which  was  in  full  bloom  with  an 
immense  profusion  of  flowers,  and  enriched  with 
beautiful  gifts  from  many  generous  hearts.  For 
three  hours  it  was  the  "joy  unfeigned"  of  my  family 
and  myself  to  grasp  again  the  warm  hands  of  our 
faithful  Lafayette  Avenue  flock,  and  of  my  Brooklyn 
neighbors  who  had  for  two-score  years  gladdened 
our  lives,  as  the  Great  Apostle  was  gladdened  by  his 
loyal  friends  at  Thessalonica. 

On  Saturday  evening  the  nth,  the  "Chi  Alpha" 
Society  of  New  York,  the  oldest  and  most  widely 
known  of  clerical  brotherhoods,  gave  me  their  fra- 
ternal greetings  at  the  residence  of  the  venerable 
Mrs.  William  E.  Dodge,  now  blessed  with  unim- 
paired vigor,  in  the  golden  autumn  of  a  life  pro- 
tracted beyond  four-score  and  ten.  The  walls  of 
that  hospitable  mansion  on  Murray  Hill  have  prob- 
ably welcomed  more  persons  eminent  in  the  relig- 
ious activities  of  our  own  and  other  lands  than  any 
other  private  residence  in  America.  Brief  speeches 
were  made;  a  beautiful  "address"  was  presented, 
which  now,  embossed  and  framed,  adorns  the  waits 
of  my  library.  After  this  the  Rev.  Charles  Lemuel 
Thompson,  an  Ex-moderator  of  our  General  Assem- 
bly, and  now  the  Secretary  of  the  Board  of  Home 
Missions,  read  the  following  ringing  lines  which  he 
had  composed  on  behalf  of  my  fellow  voyagers  on 


320        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

many  a  cruise  and  in  many  a  conflict  for  our  ador- 
able Lord  and  King.  My  only  apology  for  introduc- 
ing them  here  is  their  rare  poetic  merit  which  en- 
titles them  to  a  more  permanent  place  than  in  the 
many  journals  in  which  they  were  reprinted.  I 
ought  to  add  that  "Croton"  is  the  name  of  the  river 
and  the  reservoir  that  supply  New  York  with  its 
wholesome  water: 

OUR  CAPTAIN. 

Fill — fill   up  your  glasses — with  Croton  I 

Fill  full  to  the  brim  I  say, 
For  the  dearest  old  boy  among  us, 

Who  is   ten  times   eight  to-day. 

It  is  three  times  three  and  a  tiger — 
It  is  hand  to  your  caps,   O   men ! 
For  our  Captain  of  captains   rejoices, 
In  his  counting  of  eight  times  ten. 

Foot  square  on  the  bridge  and  gripping 

As  steady  as  fate  the  wheel, 
He  has  taken  the  storms  to  his  forehead, 

And  cheered  in  the  tempest's  reel. 

He  has  seen  the  green  sea  monsters 

Go  writhing  down  the  gale, 
But  never  a  hand  to  slacken, 

And  never  a  heart  to  fail. 

So  it's — Ho ! — to  our  Captain  dauntless, 
Trumpet-tongued  and  eagle-eyed, 


LIFE  AT  HOME— AND  FRIENDS  ABROAD.  321 

With  the  spray  of  the  voyage  behind  him, 
And  the   Pilot  by  his   side. 

Together  they  sail  into  sunset — 

Slow  down  for  the  harbor  bell, 
For  the  flash  of  the  port,  and  the  message 

"Well  done" — It  is  well — It  is  well. 

So  it's  three  times  three  and  a  tiger ! 

Breathe  deep  for  the  man  we  love; 
His  heart  is  the  heart  of  a  lion, 

His  soul  is  the  soul  of  a  dove. 

It  is — Ho! — to  the  Captain  we  honor, 
Salute  we  the  man  and  the  day, 

On  his  brow  are  the  snows  of  December, 
In  his  heart  are  the  bird  songs  of  May. 

The  Scripture  passage  from  which  I  discoursed 
on  the  next  Sabbath  morning,  January  I2th,  in  our 
Lafayette  Avenue  Church  pulpit — "At  evening  time 
it  shall  be  light" — seems  especially  appropriate  to  an 
autobiography  penned  at  a  time  when  the  life-day  is 
already  far  spent.  There  are  some  people  who 
have  a  pitiful  dread  of  old  age.  For  myself,  instead 
of  it  being  a  matter  of  sorrow  or  of  pain,  it  is  rather 
an  occasion  of  profound  joy  that  God  has  enabled 
me  to  write  in  my  family  record  "Four  score  years." 
The  October  of  life  may  be  one  of  the  most  fruitful 
months  in  all  its  calendar ;  and  the  "Indian  summer" 
its  brightest  period  when  God's  sunshine  kindles 


322        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

every  leaf  on  the  tree  with  crimson  and  golden 
glories.  Faith  grows  in  its  tenacity  of  fibre  by  the 
long  continued  exercise  of  testing  God,  and  trusting 
His  promises.  The  veteran  Christian  can  turn  over 
the  leaves  of  his  well-worn  Bible  and  say:  "This 
Book  has  been  my  daily  companion;  I  know  all 
about  this  promise  and  that  one  and  that  other  one ; 
for  I  have  tried  them  for  myself,  I  have  a  great  pile 
of  cheques  which  my  Heavenly  Father  has  cashed 
with  gracious  blessings."  Bunyan  brings  his  Pil- 
grim, not  into  a  second  infant  school  where  they  may 
sit  down  in  imbecility,  or  loiter  in  idleness ;  he  brings 
them  into  Beulah  Land,  where  the  birds  fill  the  air 
with  music;  and  where  they  catch  glimpses  of  the 
Celestial  City.  They  are  drawing  nearer  to  the  end 
of  their  long  journey  and  beyond  that  river,  that  has 
no  bridge,  looms  up  the  New  Jerusalem  in  all  its 
flashing  splendors. 

In  a  previous  chapter  I  have  told  the  story  of  our 
bereavement  when  God  took  three  of  our  precious 
children  to  Himself;  but  to-day  we  can  chant  the 
twenty-third  Psalm,  for  the  overflowing  cup  of 
mercies  that  sweeten  our  home,  and  for  the  two 
loving  children  that  are  spared  to  us.  Our  eldest 
daughter,  Mary,  is  the  wife  of  Dr.  William  S. 
Cheesman,  an  eminent  physician  in  the  beautiful 
city  of  Auburn,  the  County-seat  of  my  native 
County  of  Cayuga.  It  is  the  site  of  one  of  our  prin- 


LIFE  AT  HOME— AND  FRIENDS  ABROAD.  323 

cipal  Theological  Seminaries,  from  which  have 
graduated  many  of  the  foremost  ministers  in  our 
Presbyterian  denomination.  One  of  the  earliest 
professors  of  that  institution  was  the  revered  Dr. 
Henry  Mills,  who  baptized  me  in  my  infancy. 
Auburn'  is  also  well  known  as  the  residence  of  our 
celebrated  statesman  William  H.  Seward,  who  was 
Secretary  of  State  under  President  Lincoln.  In 
the  social  and  intellectual  life  of  Auburn,  my  daugh- 
ter takes  a  prominent  part;  and  she  is  greatly  be- 
loved for  her  untiring  activities  in  labors  of  benevo- 
lence. Our  only  living  son,  Theodore  Ledyard 
Cuyler,  Jr.,  the  surviving  twin  brother  of  "little 
Georgie,"  fills  an  honorable  position  as  an  officer 
of  the  Postal  Telegraph  and  Cable  Company 
in  New  York.  Since  the  death  of  his  lovely 
young  wife,  several  years  ago,  he  has  resided 
with  us,  and  his  only  son,  "Ledyard,"  is  the  joy 
of  his  grandparents'  hearts.  The  sister  and  niece 
of  my  wife  complete  our  household — and  our 
happiness. 

My  journey  hence  to  the  sun-setting  must  be 
brief  at  the  farthest.  I  only  ask  to  live  just  as  long 
as  God  has  any  work  for  me  to  do — and  not  one 
moment  longer.  I  do  not  seek  to  measure  with  this 
hand  how  high  the  sun  of  life  may  yet  be  above  the 
horizon ;  but  when  it  does  go  down,  may  my  closing 
eyes  behold  the  bright  effulgence  of  Heaven's  bless- 


324        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

ings  upon  yonder  glorious  sanctuary,  and  its  faithful 
flock.  After  my  long  day's  work  for  the  Master  is 
over,  and  this  mortal  body  has  been  put  to  sleep  in 
yonder  beautiful  dormitory  of  "Greenwood"  by  the 
sea,  I  desire  that  the  inscription  that  shall  be  written 
over  my  slumbering  dust  may  be,  "The  Founder  of 
Lafayette  Avenue  Presbyterian  Church." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  JOYS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN   MINISTRY. 

A  Valedictory  Discourse  Delivered  to  the  Lafayette 
Avenue  Church,  April  6,  1890. 

I  INVITE  your  attention  this  morning  to  the  nine- 
teenth and  twentieth  verses  of  the  second  chapter  of 
Paul's  Epistle  to  the  Thessalonians : 

"For  what  is  our  hope,  or  joy,  or  crown  of  rejoicing? 
Are  not  even  ye  in  the  presence  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ 
at  His  coming?  For  ye  are  our  glory  and  joy." 

These  words  were  written  by  the  most  remark- 
able man  in  the  annals  of  the  Christian  Church. 
Great  interest  is  attached  to  them  from  the  fact  that 
they  are  part  of  the  first  inspired  epistle  that  Paul 
ever  wrote.  Nay,  more.  The  letter  to  the  Church 
of  Thessalonica  is  probably  the  earliest  as  to  date 
of  all  the  books  of  the  New  Testament.  Paul  was 
then  at  Corinth,  about  fifty-two  years  old,  in  the  full 
vigor  of  his  splendid  prime.  His  spiritual  son, 
Timothy,  brings  him  tidings  from  the  infant  church 
in  Thessalonica,  that  awakens  his  solicitude.  He 
325 


326        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

yearns  to  go  and  see  them,  but  he  cannot ;  so  he  de- 
termines to  write  to  them ;  and  one  day  he  lays  aside 
his  tent  needle,  seizes  his  pen,  and,  when  that  pen 
touches  the  papyrus  sheet  the  New  Testament  be- 
gins. The  Apostle's  great,  warm  heart  kindles  and 
blazes  as  he  goes  on,  and  at  length  bursts  out  in  this 
impassioned  utterance:  "Ye  are  my  glory  and 
joy!" 

Paul,  I  thank  thee  for  a  thousand  things,  but  for 
nothing  do  I  thank  thee  more  than  for  that  golden 
sentence.  In  these  thrilling  words,  the  greatest  of 
Christian  pastors,  rising  above  the  poverty,  home- 
lessness,  and  scorn  that  surrounded  him,  reaches 
forth  his  hand  and  grasps  his  royal  diadem.  No  man 
shall  rob  the  aged  hero  of  his  crown.  No  chaplet 
worn  by  a  Roman  conqueror  in  the  hour  of  his 
brightest  triumph,  rivals  the  coronal  that  Pastor 
Paul  sees  flashing  before  his  eyes.  It  is  a  crown 
blazing  with  stars;  every  star  an  immortal  soul 
plucked  from  the  darkness  of  sin  into  the  light  and 
liberty  of  a  child  of  God.  Poor,  is  he  ?  He  is  mak- 
ing many  rich.  Despised  is  he?  He  wouldn't 
change  places  with  Caesar.  Homeless  is  he?  His 
citizenship  is  in  heaven,  where  he  will  find  myriads 
whom  he  can  meet  and  say  to  them :  "Ye,  ye  are  my 
glory  and  joy."  Sixteen  centuries  after  Paul 
uttered  these  words,  John  Bunyan  re-echoed  them 
when  he  said : 


THE  JOYS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  MINISTRY.    327 

"I  have  counted  as  if  I  had  goodly  buildings  in  the 
places  where  my  spiritual  children  were  born.  My  heart 
has  been  so  wrapt  up  in  this  excellent  work  that  I  ac- 
counted myself  more  honored  of  God  than  if  He  had 
made  me  emperor  of  all  the  world,  or  the  lord  of  all  the 
glory  of  the  earth  without  it.  He  that  converteth  a  sinner 
from  the  error  of  his  ways  doth  save  a  soul  from  death; 
and  they  that  be  wise  shall  shine  as  the  brightness  of  the 
firmament." 


Now,  the  great  Apostle  expressed  what  every 
ambassador  of  Christ  constantly  experiences  when 
in  the  thick  of  the  Master's  work.  His  are  the  joys 
of  acquisition.  His  purse  may  be  scanty,  his  teach- 
ing may  be  humble,  and  the  field  of  his  labor  may  be 
so  obscure  that  no  bulletins  of  his  achievements  are 
ever  proclaimed  to  an  admiring  world.  Difficulties 
may  sadden  and  discouragement  bring  him  to  his 
knees;  but  I  tell  you  that  obscure,  toiling  man  of 
God  has  a  joy  vouchsafed  to  him  that  a  Frederick 
or  a  Marlborough  never  knew  on  the  field  of  bloody 
triumph,  or  that  a  Rothschild  never  dreams  of  in  his 
mansions  of  splendor,  nor  an  Astor  with  his  stores 
of  gold.  Every  nugget  of  fresh  truth  discovered 
makes  him  happier  than  one  who  has  found  golden 
spoil.  Every  attentive  auditor  is  a  delight;  every 
look  of  interest  on  a  human  countenance  flashes  back 
to  illuminate  his  own.  Above  all,  when  the  tears  of 
penitence  course  down  a  cheek  and  a  returning  soul 


328         RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

is  led  by  him  to  the  Saviour,  there  is  great  joy  in 
heaven  over  a  repentant  wanderer,  and  a  joy  in 
that  minister's  heart  too  exquisite  to  utter.  Then 
he  is  repaid  in  full  measure,  pressed  down,  running 
over  into  his  bosom. 

Converted  souls  are  jewels  in  the  caskets  of 
faithful  parents,  teachers  and  pastors.  They  shall 
flash  in  the  diadem  which  the  Righteous  Judge  shall 
give  them  in  that  great  day.  Ah !  it  is  when  an  am- 
bassador of  Christ  sees  an  army  of  young  converts 
and  listens  to  the  first  utterances  of  their  new-born 
love,  and  when  he  presides  at  a  communion  table 
and  sees  his  spiritual  off-spring  gathered  around 
him,  more  true  joy  that  faithful  pastor  feels  than 
"Caesar  with  a  Senate  at  his  heels."  Rutherford,  of 
Scotland,  only  voiced  the  yearnings  of  every  true 
pastor's  heart  when  he  exlaimed:  "Oh,  how  rich 
were  I  if  I  could  obtain  of  my  Lord  the  salvation  of 
you  all !  What  a  prey  had  I  gotten  to  have  you  all 
caught  in  Christ's  net.  My  witness  is  above,  that 
your  heaven  would  be  the  two  heavens  to  me,  and 
the  salvation  of  you  all  would  be  two  salvations 
to  me." 

Yet,  my  beloved  people,  when  I  recall  the  joy  of 
my  forty-four  years  of  public  ministry  I  often  shud- 
der at  the  fact  of  how  near  I  came  to  losing  it.  For 
very  many  months  my  mind  was  balancing  between 
the  pulpit  and  the  attractions  of  a  legal  and  political 


THE  JOYS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  MINISTRY.    329 

career.  A  single  hour  in  a  village  prayer-meeting 
turned  the  scale.  But  perhaps  behind  it  all  a  be- 
loved mother's  prayers  were  moving  the  mysterious 
hand  that  touched  the  poised  balance,  and  made 
souls  outweigh  silver,  and  eternity  outweigh  time. 
Would  that  I  could  lift  up  my  voice  this  morn- 
ing in  every  academy,  college  and  university  on  this 
broad  continent.  I  would  say  to  every  gifted  Chris- 
tian youth,  "God  and  humanity  have  need  of  you." 
He  who  redeemed  you  by  His  precious  blood  has 
a  sovereign  right  to  the  best  brains  and  the  most 
persuasive  tongues  and  the  highest  culture.  Why 
crowd  into  the  already  over-crowded  professions? 
The  only  occupation  in  America  that  is  not  over- 
done is  the  occupation  of  serving  Jesus  Christ  and 
saving  souls.  I  do  not  affirm  that  a  Christian  can- 
not serve  his  Master  in  any  other  sphere  or  calling 
than  the  Gospel  ministry;  but  I  do  affirm  that  the 
ambition  for  worldly  gains  and  worldly  honors  is 
sluicing  the  very  heart  of  God's  Church,  and  draw- 
ing out  to-day  much  of  the  Church's  best  blood  in 
their  greedy  outlets.  And  I  fearlessly  declare  that 
when  the  most  splendid  talent  has  reached  the  lofti- 
est round  on  the  ladder  of  promotion,  that  round 
is  many  rungs  lower  than  a  pulpit  in  which  a  conse- 
crated tongue  proclaims  a  living  Christianity  to 
a  dying  world.  What  Lord  Eldon  from  the  bar, 
what  Webster  from  the  Senate-chamber,  what  Sir 


330        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

Walter  Scott  from  the  realms  of  romance,  what 
Darwin  from  the  field  of  science,  what  monarch 
from  Wall  Street  or  Lombard  Street  can  carry  his 
laurels  or  his  gold  up  to  the  judgment  seat  and  say, 
"These  are  my  joy  and  crown?"  The  laurels  and 
the  gold  will  be  dust — ashes.  But  if  so  humble  a 
servant  of  Jesus  Christ  as  your  pastor  can  ever  point 
to  the  gathered  flock  arrayed  in  white  before  the 
celestial  throne,  then  he  may  say,  "What  is  my 
hope,  or  joy,  or  crown  of  rejoicing.  Are  not  even 
ye  in  the  presence  of  Christ  at  His  coming?" 

Good  friends,  I  have  told  you  what  aspirations 
led  me  to  the  pulpit  as  a  place  in  which  to  serve 
my  Master;  and  I  thank  Christ,  the  Lord,  for  put- 
ting me  into  the  ministry.  The  forty- four  years  I 
have  spent  in  that  office  have  been  unspeakably 
happy.  Many  a  far  better  man  has  not  been  as  happy 
from  causes  beyond  control.  He  may  have  had 
to  contend  with  feeble  health  as  I  never  have;  or  a 
despondent  temperament,  as  I  never  have;  or  have 
struggled  to  maintain  a  large  household  on  a  slender 
purse ;  he  may  have  been  placed  in  a  stubborn  field, 
where  the  Gospel  was  shattered  to  pieces  on  flinty 
hearts.  From  all  such  trials  a  kind  Providence  has 
delivered  your  pastor. 

My  ministry  began  in  a  very  small  church.  For 
that  I  am  thankful.  Let  no  young  minister  covet  a 
Jarge  parish  at  the  outset.  The  clock  that  is  not 


THE  JOYS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  MINISTRY.    331 

content  to  strike  one  will  never  strike  twelve.  In 
that  little  parish  at  Burlington,  N.  J.,  I  had  oppor- 
tunity for  the  two  most  valuable  studies  for  any 
minister — God's  Book  and  individual  hearts.  My 
next  call  was  to  organize  and  serve  an  infant  church 
in  Trenton,  N.  J.,  and  for  that  I  am  thankful.  Lay- 
ing the  foundation  of  a  new  church  affords  capital 
tuition  in  spiritual  masonry,  and  the  walls  of  that 
church  have  stood  firm  and  solid  for  forty  years. 
The  crowning  mercy  of  my  Trenton  ministry  was 
this,  that  one  Sunday  while  I  was  watering  the 
flock,  a  goodlier  vision  than  that  of  Rebecca  ap- 
peared at  the  well's  mouth,  and  the  sweet  sun- 
shine of  that  presence  has  never  departed  from  the 
pathway  of  my  life.  To  this  hour  the  prosaic  old 
capital  of  New  Jersey  has  a  halo  of  poetry  floating 
over  it,  and  I  never  go  through  it  without  waving  a 
benediction  from  the  passing  train. 

The  next  stage  of  my  life's  work  was  a  seven 
years'  pastorate  of  Market  Street  Church  in  the 
city  of  New  York.  To  those  seven  years  of  hard 
and  happy  labor  I  look  back  with  joy.  The  congre- 
gation swarmed  with  young  men,  many  of  whom 
have  risen  to  prominence  in  the  commercial  and 
religious  life  of  the  great  metropolis.  The  name  of 
Market  Street  is  graven  indelibly  on  my  heart.  I 
rejoice  that  the  quaint  old  edifice  still  stands  and 
welcomes  every  Sabbath  a  congregation  of  landsmen 


332        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

and  of  sailors.  During  the  year  1858  occurred 
the  great  revival,  when  a  mighty  wind  from 
Heaven  filled  every  house  where  the  people  of  God 
were  sitting,  and  the  glorious  work  of  that 
revival  kept  many  of  us  busy  for  six  months,  night 
and  day. 

Early  in  the  year  1860  a  signal  was  made  to  me 
from  this  side  of  the  East  River.  It  came  from  a 
brave  little  band  then  known  as  the  Park  Presby- 
terian Church,  who  had  never  had  any  installed 
pastor.  The  signal  at  first  was  unheeded ;  but  a 
higher  than  human  hand  seemed  to  be  behind  it, 
and  I  had  only  to  obey.  That  little  flock  stood  like 
the  man  of  Macedonia,  saying,  "Come  over  and 
help  us,"  and  after  I  had  seen  the  vision  immedi- 
ately I  decided  to  come,  assuredly  concluding  that 
God  had  called  me  to  preach  the  Gospel  unto  them. 

This  morning  my  memory  goes  back  to  that  chilly, 
stormy  April  Sunday  when  my  labors  began  as 
your  first  pastor.  About  two  hundred  and  fifty  peo- 
ple, full  of  grace  and  grit,  gathered  on  that  Easter 
morning  to  see  how  God  could  roll  away  stones 
that  for  two  years  had  blocked  their  path  with  dis- 
couragement. My  first  message  many  of  you  re- 
member. It  was,  "I  determined  not  to  know  any- 
thing among  you  save  Jesus  Christ  and  Him  cruci- 
fied." Of  that  little  company  the  large  majority 
has  departed.  Many  of  them  are  among  the  white- 


THE  JOYS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  MINISTRY.    333 

robed  that  now  behold  their  risen  Lord  in  glory.  Of 
the  seventeen  church  officers — elders,  deacons  and 
trustees — then  in  office,  who  greeted  me  that  day, 
only  four  are  living,  and  of  that  number  only  one, 
Mr.  Albion  P.  Higgins,  is  now  a  member  of  this 
congregation.  I  wonder  how  many  there  are  here 
this  morning  that  gathered  before  my  pulpit  on 
that  Easter  Sunday  thirty  years  ago?  As  many  of 
you  as  there  are  present  that  were  at  that  service 
thirty  years  ago  will  do  me  a  favor  if  you  will  rise 
in  your  pews. 

(Thirteen  people  here  stood  up.) 

God  bless  you !  If  it  hadn't  been  for' you  this  ark 
would  never  have  been  built. 

Ah!  we  had  happy  days  in  that  modest  chapel. 
The  tempest  of  civil  war  was  raging,  with  Lincoln's 
steady  hand  at  the  helm.  We  got  our  share  of  the 
gale ;  but  we  set  our  storm-sails,  and  every  one  that 
could  handle  ropes  stood  at  his  or  her  place.  Just 
think  of  the  money  contributions  that  small  church 
made  during  the  first  year  of  my  pastorate — $20,000, 
not  in  paper,  but  in  gold.  The  little  band  in  that 
chapel  was  not  only  generous  in  donations  but  val- 
iant in  spirit,  and  it  was  under  the  gracious  shower 
of  a  revival  that  we  removed  into  this  edifice  on  the 
T6th  of  March,  1862. 

The  subsequent  history  of  the  thurch  was  pub- 
lished so  fully  at  the  notable  anniversary  five  years 


334        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

ago  that  I  need  only  repeat  the  chief  head-lines  in 
a  very  few  sentences.  In  1863  Mr.  William  Wickes 
started  a  mission  school,  which  afterward  grew  into 
the  present  Cumberland  Street  Church.  In  1866 
occurred  that  wonderful  work  of  grace  that  resulted 
in  the  addition  of  320  souls  to  our  membership,  one 
hundred  of  them  heads  of  families.  As  a  thank- 
offering  to  God  for  that  rich  blessing  the  Memorial 
Mission  School  was  established,  which  was  soon 
organized  into  the  Memorial  Presbyterian  Church, 
now  on  Seventh  Avenue,  under  the  excellent  pas- 
torate of  my  Brother  Nelson.  During  the  winter 
of  1867  a  conference  of  gentlemen  was  held  in  yon- 
der study  which  set  on  foot  the  present  Classon 
Avenue  Church,  where  my  Brother  Chamberlain 
administers  equally  satisfactorily.  Olivet  Mission 
was  organized  in  1874.  It  will  always  be  fragrant 
with  the  memory  of  Horace  B.  Griffing,  its  first 
superintendent.  The  Cuyler  Chapel  was  opened  on 
Atlantic  Avenue  in  March,  1886,  by  our  Young 
People's  Association,  who  are  maintaining  it  most 
vigorously.  The  little  Corwin  Mission  on  Myrtle 
Avenue  was  established  by  a  member  of  the  church 
to  perpetuate  his  name,  and  is  largely  sustained  by 
members  of  this  church. 

Of  all  the  efficient,  successful  labors  of  the  Lafay- 
ette Avenue  Temperance  Society,  the  Women's 
Home  and  Foreign  Missionary  Society,  their 


THE  JOYS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  MINISTRY.    335 

Benevolent  Society,  the  Cuyler  Mission  Band,  the 
Daughters  of  the  Temple,  and  other  kindred  or- 
ganizations. I  have  no  time  or  place  to  speak  this 
morning.  But  I  must  repeat  now  what  I  have  said 
in  years  past,  that  the  two  strong  arms  of  this 
church  are  its  Sunday  School  and  its  Young  Peo- 
ple's Association.  The  former  has  been  kept  well 
up  to  the  ideal  of  such  an  institution.  It  is  that  of 
a  training  school  of  young  hearts  for  this  life  and 
for  the  life  to  come.  God's  blessing  has  descended 
upon  it  like  the  morning  dew.  Of  the  large  num- 
ber of  children  that  have  been  enrolled  in  its 
classes  730  have  been  received  into  membership 
with  this  church  alone,  and  to  the  profession  of 
faith  in  Christ — to  say  nothing  of  those  who  have 
joined  elsewhere.  Warmly  do  I  thank  and  heartily 
do  I  congratulate  our  beloved  brother,  Daniel  W. 
McWilliams,  and  his  faithful  group  of  teachers, 
and  the  Superintendent  of  the  primary  department 
and  her  group  of  assistants,  on  the  seal  which  God 
has  set  upon  their  loving  work.  They  contemplate 
the  long  array  of  children  whom  they  have  guided 
to  Jesus;  and  they,  too,  can  exclaim,  "What  is  our 
joy  or  crown  of  rejoicing?  Are  not  even  ye  in  the 
Lord?" 

If  the  Sunday  School  has  rendered  good  service, 
so  has  the  well-drilled  and  well-watered  Young 
People's  Association.  The  fires  of  devotion  have 


336        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

never  gone  out  on  the  altar  of  their  Monday  eve- 
ning gatherings.  For  length  of  days  and  number  of 
membership  combined,  probably  it  surpasses  all 
similar  young  people's  associations  in  our  country. 
About  three  thousand  names  have  been  on  its  mem- 
bership roll,  and  of  this  number  twelve  have  set 
their  faces  toward  the  Gospel  ministry.  Oh,  what  a 
source  of  joy  to  me  that  I  leave  that  association  in 
such  a  high  condition  of  vigor  and  prosperity!  No 
church  can  languish,  no  church  can  die,  while  it 
has  plenty  of  young  blood  in  its  veins. 

What  has  been  the  outcome  of  these  thirty  years 
of  happy  pastorate?  As  far  as  the  results  can  be 
tabulated  the  following  is  a  brief  summary: — Dur- 
ing my  pastorate  here  I  have  preached  about  2,750 
discourses,  have  delivered  a  very  large  number  of 
public  addresses  in  behalf  of  Sunday  Schools, 
Young  Men's  Associations,  the  temperance  reform, 
and  kindred  enterprises  for  advancing  human  wel- 
fare. I  have  officiated  at  682  marriages.  I  have 
baptized  962  children.  The  total  number  received 
into  the  membership  of  this  church  during  this 
time  has  been  4,223.  Of  this  number  1,920  have 
united  by  a  confession  of  their  faith  in  Jesus  Christ. 
An  army,  you  see,  an  army  of  nearly  two  thousand 
souls,  have  enlisted  under  the  banner  of  King  Jesus, 
and  taken  their  "sacramentum,"  or  vow  of  loyalty, 
before  this  pulpit.  What  is  our  crown  of  rejoicing? 


THE  JOYS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  MINISTRY.    337 

Are  not  even  they  in  the  presence  of  Christ  at  His 
coming  ? 

It  is  due  to  you  that  I  should  commend  your  lib- 
erality in  gifts  to  God's  treasury.  During  these 
thirty  years  over  $640,000  have  been  contributed 
for  ecclesiastical  and  benevolent  purposes,  and  about 
$700,000  for  the  maintenance  of  the  sanctuary,  its 
worship,  and  its  work.  Over  a  million  and  a  quar- 
ter of  dollars  have  passed  through  these  two  chan- 
nels. The  successive  boards  of  trustees  have  man- 
aged our  financial  affairs  carefully  and  efficiently. 
The  architecture  of  this  noble  edifice  is  not  disfig- 
ured by  any  mortgage.  I  hope  it  never  will  be. 

There  is  one  department  of  ministerial  labor  that 
has  had  a  peculiar  attraction  to  me  and  afforded  me 
peculiar  joy.  Pastoral  work  has  always  been  my 
passion.  It  has  been  my  rule  to  know  everybody  in 
this  congregation,  if  possible,  and  seldom  have  I 
allowed  a  day  to  pass  without  a  visit  to  some  of 
your  homes.  I  fancied  that  you  cared  more  to  have 
a  warm-hearted  pastor  than  a  cold-blooded  preach- 
er, however  intellectual.  To  carry  out  thoroughly  a 
system  of  personal  oversight,  to  visit  every  family, 
to  stand  by  the  sick  and  dying  beds,  to  put  one's  self 
into  sympathy  with  aching  hearts  and  bereaved 
households,  is  a  process  that  has  swallowed  up  time, 
and  I  tell  you  it  has  strained  the  nerves  prodigi- 
ously. Costly  as  the  process  has  been,  it  has  paid. 


338        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

If  I  have  given  sermons  to  you,  I  have  got  sermons 
from  you.  The  closest  tie  that  binds  us  together  is 
that  sacred  tie  that  has  been  wound  around  the 
cribs  in  your  nurseries,  the  couches  in  your  sick 
chambers,  the  chairs  at  your  fireside,  and  even  the 
coffins  that  have  borne  away  your  precious  dead. 
My  fondest  hope  is  that  however  much  you  may 
honor  and  love  my  successor  in  this  pulpit,  you  will 
evermore  keep  a  warm  place  in  the  chimney-corner 
of  your  hearts  for  the  man  that  gave  the  best  thirty 
years  of  his  life  to  your  service. 

Here  let  me  bespeak  for  my  successor  the  most 
kind  and  reasonable  allowance  as  to  pastoral  labors. 
Do  not  expect  too  much  from  him.  Very  few  min- 
isters have  the  peculiar  passion  for  pastoral  service 
that  I  have  had;  and  if  Christ's  ambassador  who 
shall  occupy  this  pulpit  proclaims  faithfully  the 
whole  Gospel  of  God  and  brings  a  sympathetic 
heart  to  your  houses,  do  not  criticize  him  unjustly 
because  he  may  not  attempt  to  make  twenty-five 
thousand  pastoral  visits  in  thirty  years.  House  to 
house  visitation  has  only  been  one  hemisphere  of 
the  pastor's  work.  I  have  accordingly  endeavored 
to  guard  the  door  of  yonder  study  so  that  I  might 
give  undivided  energy  to  preparation  for  this  pulpit. 

You  know,  my  dear  people,  how  I  have  preached 
and  what  I  have  preached.  In  spite  of  many  inter- 
ruptions, I  have  honestly  handled  each  topic  as  best 


THE  JOYS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  MINISTRY.    339 

I  could.  The  minister  that  foolishly  runs  races 
with  himself  is  doomed  to  an  early  suicide.  All  that 
I  claim  for  my  sermons  is  that  they  have  been  true 
to  God's  Book  and  the  cross  of  Jesus  Christ — have 
been  simple  enough  for  a  child  to  understand,  and 
have  been  preached  in  full  view  of  the  judgment 
seat.  I  have  aimed  to  keep  this  pulpit  abreast  of  all 
great  moral  reforms  and  human  progress,  and  the 
majestic  marchings  of  the  kingdom  of  King  Jesus. 
The  preparation  of  my  sermons  has  been  an  un- 
speakable delight.  The  manna  fell  fresh  every 
morning,  and  it  had  to  me  the  sweetness  of  angels' 
food.  Ah,  there  are  many  sharp  pangs  before  me. 
None  will  be  sharper  than  the  hour  that  bids  fare- 
well to  yonder  blessed  and  beloved  study.  For 
twenty-eight  years  it  has  been  my  daily  home — one 
of  the  dearest  spots  this  side  of  Heaven.  From  its 
walls  have  looked  down  upon  me  the  inspiring  faces 
of  Chalmers,  Charles  Wesley,  Spurgeon,  Lincoln 
and  Gladstone;  Adams,  Storrs,  Guthrie,  Newman 
Hall,  and  my  beloved  teachers,  Charles  Hodge  and 
the  Alexanders  of  Princeton.  Thither  your  infant 
children  have  been  brought  on  Sabbath  mornings, 
awaiting  their  baptism.  Thither  your  older  children 
have  come  by  hundreds  to  converse  with  me  about 
the  welfare  of  their  souls.  Thither  have  come  all 
the  candidates  for  admission  to  the  fellowship  of 
this  church,  and  have  made  there  their  confession 


340        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

of  faith  and  their  allegiance  to  Christ.  Oh,  what 
blessed  interviews  with  inquirers  have  been  held 
there!  What  sweet  and  happy  fellowship  with  my 
successive  bands  of  helpers,  some  of  whom  have 
joined  the  general  assembly  of  the  redeemed  in 
glory.  That  hallowed  study  has  been  to  me  some- 
times a  Bochim  of  tears,  and  sometimes  a  Hermon, 
when  the  vision  was  of  no  man  save  Jesus  only. 
And  the  work  there  has  been  a  wider  one  for  a  far 
wider  multitude  than  these  walls  contain  this  morn- 
ing. I  have  written  there  nearly  all  the  hundreds  of 
articles  which  have  gone  out  through  the  religious 
press,  over  this  country,  over  Great  Britain,  over 
Europe,  over  Australia,  Canada,  India,  and  New 
Zealand.  During  my  ministry  I  have  published 
about  3,200  of  these  articles.  Many  of  them  have 
been  gathered  into  books,  many  of  them  translated 
into  Swedish,  Spanish,  Dutch,  and  other  foreign 
tongues.  They  have  made  the  scratch  of  a  very 
humble  pen  audible  to  Christendom.  The  conse- 
crated pen  may  be  more  powerful  than  the  conse- 
crated tongue.  I  devoutly  thank  God  for  having 
condescended  to  use  my  humble  pen  to  the  spread 
of  his  Gospel ;  and  I  purpose  with  His  help  to  spend 
much  of  the  brief  remainder  of  my  life  in  preaching 
His  glorious  Gospel  through  the  press. 

I  am  sincerely  sorry  that  the  necessities  of  this 
hour  seem  to  require  so  personal  a  discourse  this 


THE  JOYS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  MINISTRY.    341 

morning;  but  I  must  hide  behind  the  example  of 
the  great  Apostle  who  gave  me  my  text.  Because 
He  reviewed  His  ministry  among  His  spiritual  chil- 
dren of  Thessalonica,  I  may  be  allowed  to  review 
my  own,  too — standing  here  this  morning  under 
such  peculiar  circumstances.  These  thirty  years 
have  been  to  me  years  of  unbounded  joy.  Sorrow  I 
have  had,  when  death  paid  four  visits  to  my  house ; 
but  the  sorrow  taught  sympathy  with  the  grief  of 
others.  Sins  I  have  committed — too  many  of  them ; 
your  patient  love  has  never  cast  a  stone.  The  faults 
of  my  ministry  have  been  my  own.  The  successes 
of  my  ministry  have  been  largely  due  under  God,  to 
your  co-operation,  and,  above  all,  to  the  amazing 
goodness  of  our  Heavenly  Father.  Looking  my  long 
pastorate  squarely  in  the  face,  I  think  I  can  honestly 
say  that  I  have  been  no  man's  man;  I  have  never 
courted  the  rich,  nor  wilfully  neglected  the  poor;  I 
have  never  blunted  the  sword  of  the  Spirit  lest  it 
should  cut  your  consciences,  or  concealed  a  truth  that 
might  save  a  soul.  In  no  large  church  is  there  a 
perfect  unanimity  of  tastes  as  to  preaching.  I  do 
not  doubt  that  there  are  some  of  you  that  are  quite 
ready  for  the  experiment  of  a  new  face  in  this  pul- 
pit, and  perhaps  there  may  be  some  who  are  lusting 
after  the  fat  quail  of  elaborate  or  philosophic  dis- 
course. For  thirty  years  I  have  tried  to  feed  you  on 
"nothing  but  manna."  Whatever  the  difference  of 


342        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

taste,  you  have  always  stood  by  me,  true  as  steel. 
This  has  been  your  spiritual  home;  and  you  have 
loved  your  home,  and  you  have  drunk  every  Sunday 
from  your  own  well;  and  though  the  water  of  life 
has  not  always  been  passed  up  to  you  in  a  richly 
embossed  silver  cup,  it  has  drawn  up  the  undiluted 
Gospel  from  the  inspired  fountain-head.  To  hear 
the  truth,  to  heed  the  truth,  to  "back"  the  truth  with 
prayer  and  toil,  has  been  the  delight  of  the  stanch- 
est  members  of  this  church.  Oh,  the  children  of 
this  church  are  inexpressibly  dear  to  me!  There 
are  hundreds  here  to-day  that  never  had  any  other 
home,  nor  ever  knew  any  other  pastor.  I  think  I 
can  say  that  "every  baptism  has  baptized  us  into 
closer  fellowship,  every  marriage  has  married  us 
into  closer  union,  every  funeral  that  bore  away  your 
beloved  dead,  only  bound  us  more  strongly  to  the  liv- 
ing." Every  invitation  from  another  church — and 
I  have  had  some  very  attractive  ones  that  I  never 
told  you  about — every  invitation  from  another 
church  has  always  been  promptly  declined;  for  I 
long  ago  determined  never  to  be  pastor  of  any  other 
than  Lafayette  Avenue  Church, 
i  What  is  my  joy  or  crown  of  rejoicing?  Are  not 
even  ye — ye — in  the  presence  of  Christ  at  His  com- 
ing? Why,  then,  sunder  a  tie  that  is  bound  to  every 
fibre  of  my  inmost  heart  ?  I  will  answer  you  frank- 
ly. There  must  be  no  concealment  or  false  pre- 


THE  JOYS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  MINISTRY.  343 

texts  between  us.  In  the  first  place,  as  I  told  you 
two  months  ago,  I  had  determined  to  make  my  thir- 
tieth anniversary  the  terminal  point  of  my  present 
pastorate.  I  determined  not  to  outstay  my  fullest 
capacity  for  the  enormous  work  demanded  here. 
The  extent  of  that  demanded  work  increases  every 
twelve  months.  The  requirements  of  preaching  twice 
every  Sunday,  to  visit  the  vast  number  of  families 
directly  connected  with  this  church,  attending  fu- 
neral services,  conferring  with  committees  about 
Christian  work  of  various  kinds,  and  numberless 
other  duties — all  these  requirements  are  prodigious. 
Thus  far,  by  the  Divine  help,  I  have  carried  that 
load.  My  health  to-day  is  as  firm  as  usual;  and  I 
thank  God  that  such  forces  of  heart  and  brain  as  He 
has  given  me  are  unabated.  The  chronic  catarrh 
that  long  ago  muffled  my  ears  to  many  a  strain  of 
sweet  music,  has  never  made  me  too  deaf  to  hear 
the  sweet  accents  of  your  love.  But  I  understand 
my  constitution  well  enough  to  know  that  I  could 
not  carry  the  undivided  load  of  this  great  church  a 
great  while  longer  without  the  risk  of  breaking 
down ;  and  there  must  be  no  risk  run  with  you  or 
with  myself.  I  also  desire  to  assist  you  in  trans- 
ferring this  magnificent  vessel  to  the  next  pilot 
whom  God  shall  appoint ;  and  I  wish  to  transfer  it 
while  it  is  well-manned,  well-equipped,  and  on  the 
clear  sea  of  an  unbroken  financial  and  spiritual  pros- 


344        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

perity.  No  man  shall  ever  say  that  I  so  far 
presumed  on  the  generous  kindness  of  this  dear 
church  as  to  linger  here  until  I  had  outlived  my 
usefulness. 

For  these  reasons  I  present  to-day  my  resignation 
of  this  sacred,  precious  charge.  It  is  my  honest  de- 
sire and  purpose  that  this  day  must  terminate  my 
present  pastorate.  For  presenting  this  resignation 
I  alone  am  responsible  before  God,  before  this 
church  and  before  the  world.  When  you  shall  have 
accepted  my  resignation,  the  whole  responsibility 
for  the  welfare  of  this  beloved  church  will  rest  on 
your  shoulders — not  on  mine.  My  earnest  prayer  is 
that  you  may  soon  be  directed  to  the  right  man  to  be 
your  minister,  to  one  who  shall  unite  all  hearts  and 
all  hands,  and  carry  forward  the  high  and  holy  mis- 
sion to  which  God  has  called  you.  He  will  find  in  me 
not  a  jealous  critic,  but  a  hearty  ally  in  everything 
that  he  may  regard  for  the  welfare  of  this  church. 

As  for  myself  I  do  not  propose  to  sit  down  on  the 
veranda  and  watch  the  sun  of  life  wheel  downward 
in  the  west.  The  labors  of  a  pen  and  of  a  ministry 
at  large  will  afford  me  no  lack  of  employment.  The 
welfare  of  this  church  is  inexpressibly  dear  to  me — 
nothing  is  dearer  to  me  this  side  of  heaven.  If, 
therefore,  while  this  flock  remains  shepherdless, 
and  in  search  of  my  successor,  I  can  be  of  actual  ser- 
vice to  you  in  supplying  at  any  time  this  pulpit  or 


THE  JOYS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  MINISTRY.  345 

performing   pastoral    labor,   that   service,   beloved, 
shall  be  performed  cheerfully. 

The  first  thought,  the  only  thought  with  all  of  us, 
is  this  church,  this  church,  THIS  CHURCH.  I  call 
no  man  my  friend,  you  must  call  no  man  your  friend 
that  does  not  stand  by  the  interests  of  Lafayette 
Avenue  Church.  It  is  now  called  to  meet  a  great 
emergency.  For  the  first  time  in  twenty-eight  years 
this  church  is  subjected  to  a  severe  strain.  During 
all  these  years  you  had  very  smooth  sailing.  You 
have  never  been  crippled  by  debt;  you  have  never 
been  distracted  with  quarrels,  and  you  have  never 
been  without  a  pastor  in  your  pulpit  or  your  homes 
when  you  needed  him.  And  I  suppose  no  church 
in  Brooklyn  has  ever  been  subjected  to  less  strain 
than  this  one.  Now  you  are  called  upon  to  face  a 
new  condition  of  things,  perhaps  a  new  danger — 
certainly  a  new  duty.  The  duty  overrides  the  dan- 
ger. To  meet  that  duty  you  are  strong  in  numbers. 
There  are  2,350  names  on  your  church  register.  Of 
these  many  are  young  children,  many  are  non-resi- 
dents who  have  never  asked  a  dismission  to  other 
churches ;  but  a  great  army  of  church  members  three 
Sabbaths  ago  rose  up  before  that  sacramental  table. 
You  are  strong  in  a  holy  harmony.  Let  no  man,  no 
woman,  break  the  ranks!  You  are  strong  in  the 
protection  of  that  great  Shepherd  who  never  re- 
signs and  who  never  grows  old.  "Lo!  I  am  with 


346        RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  LONG  LIFE. 

you  always !  Lo !  I  am  with  you  always ! 
Lo!  I  am  with  you  always!"  seems  to  greet 
me  this  morning  from  every  wall  of  this  sanc- 
tuary. I  confidently  expect  to  see  Lafayette  Ave- 
nue Church  move  steadily  forward  with  unbrok- 
en column  led  by  the  Captain  of  our  salvation.  All 
eyes  are  upon  you.  The  eye  that  never  slumbers  or 
sleeps  is  watching  over  you.  If  you  are  all  true  to 
conscience,  true  to  your  covenants,  true  to  Christ,  the 
future  of  this  dear  church  may  be  as  glorious  as  its 
past.  And  when  another  thirty  years  have  rolled 
away,  it  may  still  be  a  strong  tower  of  the  truth  on 
which  the  smile  of  God  shall  rest  like  the  light  of 
the  morning.  By  as  much  as  you  love  me,  I  entreat 
you  not  to  sadden  my  life  or  break  my  heart  by  ever 
deserting  these  walls,  or  letting  the  fire  of  devotion 
burn  down  on  these  sacred  altars. 

The  hands  of  the  clock  warn  me  to  close.  This 
is  one  of  the  most  trying  hours  of  my  whole  life.  It 
is  an  hour  when  tears  are  only  endurable  by  being 
rainbowed  with  the  memory  of  tender  mercies  and 
holy  joys.  When  my  feet  descend  those  steps  to-day, 
this  will  no  longer  be  my  pulpit.  I  surrender  it  back 
before  God  into  your  hands.  One  of  my  chiefest 
sorrows  is  that  I  leave  some  of  my  beloved  hearers 
out  of  Christ.  Oh,  you  have  been  faithfully  warned 
here,  and  you  have  been  lovingly  invited  here ;  and 
once  more,  as  though  God  did  beseech  you  by  me, 


THE  JOYS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  MINISTRY.  347 

I  implore  you  in  Christ's  name  to  be  reconciled  to 
God.  This  dear  pulpit,  whose  teachings  are  based 
on  the  Rock  of  Ages,  will  stand  long  after  the  lips 
that  now  address  you  have  turned  to  dust.  It  will 
be  visible  from  the  judgment  seat;  and  its  witness 
will  be  that  I  determined  to  know  not  anything 
among  you  save  Jesus  Christ  and  Him  crucified. 
To-day  I  write  the  last  page  in  the  record  of  thirty 
bright,  happy,  Heaven-blessed  years  among  you. 
What  is  written  is  written.  I  shall  fold  up  the  book 
and  lay  it  away  with  all  its  many  faults ;  and  it  will 
not  lose  its  fragrance  while  between  its  leaves  are 
the  pressed  flowers  of  your  love.  When  my  closing 
eyes  shall  look  on  that  record  for  the  last  time,  I 
hope  to  discover  there  only  one  name — the  name 
that  is  above  every  name,  the  name  of  Him  whose 
glory  crowns  this  Eastern  morn  with  radiant  splen- 
dor, the  name  of  Jesus  Christ,  King  of  kings,  and 
Lord  of  lords.  And  the  last  words  I  utter  in  this 
sacred  spot  are  unto  Him  that  loves  us  and  delivers 
us  from  sin  with  His  precious  blood ;  and  unto  God 
be  all  the  praise  and  thanks  and  dominion  and  glory 
for  ever  and  ever.  Amen. 


INDEX. 


Adams,  Dr.  William,  201-205. 

Albert,  Prince,  32. 

Alexander,  Archibald,  82,  191-3. 

Alexander,  Dr.  James  W.,  9. 

Alexander,  Dr.  Joseph  Addison,  82,  193-5. 

Alexander,  Stephen,  9. 

Allen,  Mr.  Alexander,  314. 

Allison,  William  J.,  121. 

American  Seamen's  Friend  Society,  255. 

American  Tract  Society,  98. 

Anderson,  Captain  James,  146,  149. 

Armstrong,  Samuel  C,  158. 

Astor,  John  Jacob,  273,  275-6. 

Aurora,  birthplace,  i. 

B 

Baily,  Joshua,  57,  318. 

Baillie,  Mrs.  Joanna,  30-1. 

Barnes,  Albert,  195. 

Batcheler,  General,  231. 

Beecher,  Henry  Ward,  150,  152,  213-15,  295. 

Beecher,  Miss  Catherine,  231. 

Binney,  Thomas,  170-172. 

Blair,  General  Francis  P.,  10. 

Bonar,  Dr.  Horatius,  40,  42. 

Booth,  Mrs.  Catherine,  265. 

Booth,  General,  265. 

Bowring,  Sir  John,  39-40. 

Bright,  John,  27,  134,  316. 

Brown,  Dr.  John,  105,  109,  147. 

Brooks,  Phillips,  195. 

Burns,  Robert,  12,  17-19,  26. 

Bushnell,  Horace,  190-1. 

Byron,  Lord,  13. 


350  INDEX. 


Campbell,  Thomas,  31. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  23-9. 

Carnaham,  Dr.,  President  of  Princeton,  9. 

Carnegie,  Andrew,  59-60,  275. 

Cary,  Edward,  301. 

Cass,  General  Lewis,  34. 

Channing,  William  Ellery,  31. 

Chauncey,  Charles,  63. 

Cheeseman,  Dr.  William,  322. 

Chi  Alpha  Society,  319. 

Christian  Endeavor  (See  Young  People's  Society  of,  etc.). 

Clark,  Rev.  Francis  E.,  87,  247,  258. 

Comstock,  Anthony,  264. 

Cook,  Joseph,  231. 

Cox,  Dr.  Samuel  Hanson,  209-13. 

Crosby,  Fanny,  43. 

Cunningham,  Professor,  13. 

Cuyler,  Benjamin  Ledyard,  Dr.  Cuyler's  father,  2;  died,  3. 

Cuyler,  Glen,  2,  24. 

Cuyler,  Louise  Ledyard,  97. 

Cuyler,  Dr.,  ancestry,  i,  2;  childhood,  3;  farm  life,  4;  early 
religious  training  and  reading,  5;  preparation  for  col- 
lege, 8;  college  memories,  9-11;  visits  England  and 
France,  Wordsworth,  Dickens,  Carlyle,  Mrs.  Baillie, 
the  Young  Queen,  Napoleon,  12-36 ;  first  public  address, 
1842,  49,  50;  visits  Stockholm,  46;  delivers  his  first 
address  in  New  York,  54;  President  National  Tem- 
perance Society,  57;  views  on  temperance,  58-59; 
chooses  the  ministry,  61 ;  at  Princeton  Seminary,  62; 
first  pastorate,  62,  83 ;  preaches  at  Saratoga,  64 ;  methods 
of  preaching,  64-73 ;  changes  in  pulpit  methods,  75-81  ; 
preaches  five  months  at  Wyoming  Valley,  83,  84;  work 
in  New  York,  85,  86;  Lafayette  Avenue,  1860,  86; 
methods  of  church  work,  87-90;  first  literary  contri- 
butions, 93;  origin  of  "Under  the  Catalpa,"  95;  extent 
of  literary  labors,  95;  first  book,  96;  inspiration  of 
"The  Empty  Crib,"  96;  inspiration  of  "God's  Light  on 
Dark  Clouds,"  97;  visits  to  famous  people  abroad, 


INDEX.  351 

Gladstone,  99-104;  Dr.  John  Brown,  105-109;  Dean 
Stanley,  109-115;  Earl  Shaftesbury,  116,  117;  interviews 
with  famous  people  at  home — Irving,  118-121 ;  Whittier, 
121-125;  Webster,  125-132;  Greeley,  132-137;  Civil  War, 
138;  services  to  "The  Christian  Commission,"  130;  at 
Washington,  131;  first  meeting  with  Lincoln,  142;  to 
Europe  in  1862,  145-149;  at  Edinburgh,  146-147;  at 
Paris,  148;  address  on  Emancipation,  149-150;  trip  to 
Charleston,  Fort  Sumter,  151 ;  views  on  pastoral  work, 
159-169;  British  pastors — Binney,  170-72;  Hamilton, 
172-3;  Guthrie,  175-76;  Hall,  177-181;  Spurgeon, 
181-86;  Duff,  187-89;  reminiscences  of  Princeton  Sem- 
inary preachers,  191 ;  reminiscences  of  famous  Amer- 
ican preachers — Phillips  Brooks,  190;  Horace  Bushnell, 
191-2;  Archibald  Alexander,  191-3;  Joseph  Addison 
Alexander,  193-5;  Albert  Barnes,  195;  Dr.  William 
B.  Sprague,  196-197;  Dr.  Stephen  H.  Tyng,  197- 
200;  Dr.  William  Adams,  201-5;  Samuel  Hanson 
Cox,  209-13;  Henry  Ward  Beecher,  213-15;  Rev. 
Charles  G.  Finney,  216-220;  Dr.  Benjamin  M. 
Palmer,  221-223;  summering  at  Saratoga,  224-232; 
meets  leading  Methodists — Bishop  Jaynes,  Bishop 
Simpson,  Bishop  Peck,  etc.,  227-8;  Bishop  Haven, 
229-31;  summering  at  Mohonk,  232;  Dr.  Schaff,  235; 
Dr.  McCosh,  237-9;  Mr-  Smiley,  240;  Indian  Confer- 
ences at  Mohonk,  240 ;  "Arbitration  Conference,"  240 ; 
letter  from  President  Harrison,  242 ;  preservation  of 
health,  243 ;  growth  of  church  fellowship  and  diminu- 
tion of  sectarianism,  244-9;  exchanging  pulpits,  246-9; 
women  in  the  pulpit — Miss  Smiley,  249-50;  foreign 
missions,  251-254;  Young  Men's  Christian  Association, 
255-57;  Christian  Endeavor  Society,  258;  missionary 
work  in  New  York,  260-268;  missionary  work  in 
Brooklyn,  268-272;  views  on  the  modern  novel,  281- 
82;  views  on  the  new  theology,  285-87;  ministry  in 
Burlington  and  Trenton,  N.  J.,  288;  marriage,  289; 
his  wife,  289-292;  Market  Street  Dutch  Reformed 
Church  of  New  York,  292-294;  calls  to  various 


352  INDEX. 

churches,  292;  Lafayette  Avenue  Presbyterian  Church, 
294;  Brooklyn,  298;  house,  302-303  ;  death  of  his  mother, 
304  ;  death  of  his  daughter,  304-5  ;  celebration  of  quar- 
ter century  of  ministry  at  Lafayette  Church,  306; 
resignation  from  the  church,  307-09;  travels,  314-317; 
commemoration  of  Both  birthday,  317-20;  valedictory 
sermon,  delivered  at  Lafayette  Avenue  Church,  325-46. 
Cuyler,  Theodore  Ledyard,  Jr.,  323. 

D 

Dayton,  Hon.  William  L.,  148. 

Delano,  Captain  Joseph  G,  12. 

Dickens,  Charles,  20-22. 

Dix,  General,  57. 

Dod,  Albert  B.,  9. 

Dod,  Hon.  Amzi,  n. 

Dodge,  Hon.  William  K,  56,  57,  275. 

Dow,  Neal,  53-55. 

Drummond,  Henry,  303. 

Duff,  Dr.  Alexander,  187-89. 

Duffield,  John  T.,  10. 


Faraday,  Sir  Michael,  10. 
Farrar,  Archdeacon,  248. 
Finney,  Rev.  Charles  G.,  76,  216-220. 


Girard,  Stephen,  273. 

Gladstone,  William  E.,  99,  104,  272. 

Gough,  Hon.  John  B.,  51-53. 

Gould,  Miss  Helen  M.,  251. 

Greeley,  Horace,   132-137. 

Gregg,  Rev.  Dr.  David,  312. 

Grellet,  Stephen,  121. 

Gurney,  Mrs.  Joseph  John,  121. 

Guthrie,  Dr.  Thomas,  175-176. 


INDEX.  353 

H 

Hackett,  Horatio  B.,  231. 

Hall,  Rev.  Newman,  26,  177-181. 

Hamilton  College,  2. 

Hamilton,  Dr.  James,  172-3. 

Harrison,  President  Benjamin,  letter  to  Dr.  Cuyler,  242. 

Harvey,  Sir  George,  107. 

Hatfield,  Dr.  Edward  F.,  47. 

Haven,  Bishop,  229-31. 

Hayes,  President  R.  B.,  235. 

Henry,  Joseph,  9,  10,  140. 

Hodge,  Archibald  Alexander,  10. 

Hodge,  Dr.  Charles,  82. 

Hopkins,  Dr.  Mark,  57. 

Howard,  General  O.  O.,  57. 

Hoxie,  Judge,  151,  152. 

Huntington,  Daniel,  259. 

I 

Irving,  Washington,  118-121. 


James,  John  Angell,  174. 
Jaynes,  Bishop,  227-8. 
Jesup,  Morris  K.,  274. 
Judson,  Adoniram,  253. 

K 
Kirk,  Rev.  Edward  N.,  73. 

L 

Ledyard,  General  Benjamin,  Dr.  Cuyler's  grandfather,  I. 

Ledyard,  Hon.  Henry,  34. 

Ledyard,  Mary  Forman,  Dr.  Cuyler's  grandmother,  2. 

Lewis,  Senator  Dixon  H.,  127. 

Lincoln,  Abraham,  141-146,  152-157,  229. 

Little,  Mr.,  founder  of  the  "Living  Age,"  205. 


354 


INDEX. 


Livingstone,  David,  174. 
Longfellow,  Henry  Wadsworth,  24. 

M 

Mandeville,  Rev.  Gerrit,  8. 

Marquand,  Frederick,  256. 

Mason,  Dr.  Lowell,  43,  44. 

Mathew,  Father  Theobald,  49-51. 

Mathiot,  Annie  E.,  Dr.  Cuyler's  wife,  289. 

Melvill,  Henry,  170. 

Miller,  Dr.  Samuel,  82. 

Moffat,  Robert,  174. 

Mohonk,  224,  232-42. 

Mohonk  Lake  Mountain  House,  232-242. 

Montgomery,  James,  37-8. 

Montgomery,  Satan,  38. 

Moody,  Dwight  L.,  90-91,  216,  247.      /t£oMU/T$  */  & 

Morrell,  Charles  Horton,  4. 

Morrell,  Louise  Frances,  Dr.  Cuyler's  mother,  2. 

Mott,  Richard,  121. 

Muhlenberg,  Dr.  William  Augustus,  45-6. 

McBurney,  Robert,  256. 

Mcchyne,  Robert  Murray,  315. 

McCosh,  President  of  Princeton,  237-9. 

McSloane,  Bishop  Charles  P.,  247. 

McKelway,  Dr.  St.  Clair,  301. 

McLaren,  Dr.  Alexander,  66,  73,  172. 

McLean,  "Uncle  Johnny,"  9. 

N 

Napoleon,  Grand  Army  of,  35. 

Napoleon's  Tomb,  35-6. 

National  Temperance  Society  and  Publication  House,  55,57. 

Nixon,  John  T.,  10. 


Palmer,  Dr.  Benjamin  M.,  221-223. 
Palmer,  Dr.  Ray,  43-5. 


INDEX.  355 


Park,  Edwards  A.,  Professor,  209. 

Pease,  Rev.  L.  M.,  260. 

Peck,  Bishop,  228. 

Phillipe,  Louis,  34. 

Pierpont,  John,  231. 

Pratt,  Charles,  274. 

Prentiss,  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Payson,  47. 

R 

Raffles,  Dr.,  12. 
Renwick,  Professor,  13. 
Robertson,  Frederick  W.,  73. 
Rockefeller,  John  D.,  274. 
Roe,  Robert,  317. 


Salvation  Army,  265-7. 

Sankey,  Ira  D.,  91. 

Saratoga,  224-26. 

Schaff,  Dr.  Philip,  235-7. 

Schlieman,  Dr.,  316. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  16,  17,  30. 

Scudder,  Edward  W.,  10. 

Seward,  William  H.,  323. 

Shaftesbury,  Earl,  116-117. 

Sloane,  Rev.  M.,  42. 

Simpson,  Bishop  Matthew,  228-9. 

Smiley,  Mr.,  Indian  and  Arbitration  Conferences,  240-1. 

Smiley,  Miss  Sara  F.,  249. 

Smith,  Dr.  Samuel  F.,  46-47. 

Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Vice,  264. 

Southey,  Robert,  16. 

Spalding,  Levi,  251. 

Spurgeon,  Charles  H.,  181-86. 

Spurgeon,  Rev.  Thomas,  186. 

Sprague,  Dr.  William  B.,  196-197. 

Stanley,  Dean,  109-115. 


356  INDEX. 

Stitt,  Dr.,  255. 

Storrs,  Dr.  Richard  S.,  205-209. 

Strong's,  Dr.,  Remedial  Institute  at  Saratoga,  227. 


Temple,  Dr.  248. 

Thompson,  Rev.  Charles  Lemuel,  319. 

Torrey,  Dr.  John,  9. 

Tweedie,  William,  317. 

Tyng,  Dr.  Stephen  H.,  197-200. 


Valedictory  Sermon,  325-46. 

Van  Buren,  President  Martin,  231. 

Van  Rensellaer,  93. 

Vickers,  Mr.,  37-8. 

Victoria,  Queen,  32-4. 

w 

Walker,  Richard  W.,  10. 
Wanamaker,  John,  270-1,  306. 
Washington,  Booker  T.,  158. 

Webster,  Daniel,  125-132. 

Wells  College,  3. 

Whitcomb,  Miss  Mary,  51. 

Whittier,  John  G.,  121-125. 

Wilberforce,  William,  22. 

Willard,  Frances  E.,  231. 

Williams,  Sir  George,  116,  246-7,  255. 

Wilson,  Professor,  "Christopher  North,"  13. 

Wilson,  Vice-  President  Henry,  231. 

Woman's  Christian  Temperance  Union,  60. 

Wordsworth,  William,  13-16. 


Young  Men's  Christian  Association,  246-7,  255. 

Young  People's  Society  of  Christian  Endeavor,  246-7,  258. 


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